CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS

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An Arthurian Miscellany at sacred-texts.com

by

WILLIAM H. BABCOCK

"His Right Wheel Struck and Shattered."

CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS: A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF ARTHUR EMPEROR OF BRITAIN AND HIS KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE HOW THEY DELIVERED LONDON AND OVERTHREW THE SAXONS AFTER THE DOWNFALL OF ROMAN BRITAIN [Note to the text]

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PREFACE.

THE most romantic period of English history is surely that chronicled by Geoffrey of Monmouth, sung by Alfred Tennyson, put into modern story by Sidney Lanier, and told in pictures by Abbey--the days of the knightly and royal Arthur of Britain.
   To ascertain, as nearly as may be, the real truth of that time, and embody a typical part of it in the guise of modern fiction, has been the labor of years, that has finally found expression by the writer in this romance of love and valor--the story of Prince Cian of the mistletoe crest, Cian of the Chariots.
   That it may make more real the deeds of that remote and misty time when the last wave of Roman occupation was receding from Britain, when, between Rome and barbarism, between Christianity and heathendom, stood only the conquering sword of that splendid knight of the Round Table and the Holy Grail, Arthur the Emperor, is the hope of the author, who here presents the old tale in modern dress for modern readers.
   It was a stirring and pivotal time. In The Two

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Lost Centuries of Britain we read: "The true story of the Arthurian campaigns would seem to be this. At the same time with the grand assault of Cerdic at Netley, or in the confusion following the death of Ambrose, the northern Saxons came crowding down. Arthur, issuing from Caer Lerion (formerly Ratae, now Leicester), met their army as it crossed the valley of the Glem; drove it back to the mouth of that stream, and there inflicted on the shore of the Wash a defeat whereby men chiefly remembered the campaign. The Saxons may have taken to their boats and escaped him by sea. One result of his victory was the relief of Caer-lud-coit (Lindom, Lincoln), which had long been standing isolated beyond the true border. No doubt the uplands of Lincolnshire were regained.
   "At the west the border-line had been carried back to the Mersey. Chester was in danger. The young general went to its relief; took the offensive; pressed the Saxons northward to the Duglas, and struck them a severe blow near Wigan. Perhaps for the time he drove them from the little valley.
   "But they returned in greater force the next season, and the next, and the next. The bone of contention was there, in spite of indecisive victory, until at last he was able to drive them bodily north as far as Westmoreland. A final success on the Pesa made a complete clearance of all that region.

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   "But the Deirans of York were unbroken as yet, although beaten back along both lines of approach. They invented a third, by way of surprise, and fell into a trap, whence, by all accounts, none issued alive and free. Hardly any event made a deeper impress on the minds of that generation than this total overthrow in the haunted wood of Celidon.
   "Now the scene moves to the southward. At this time Arthur may first have been formally invested with the supreme command throughout Britain. As Guledig, or Imperator, what a claim London must have had upon him; the most renowned of all his cities, though fallen into decay; the most recalcitrant, and thus in need of conciliation; the most endangered, so requiring aid. He found her with the enemy before the walls, the irrational hope of superstition in her heart."
   Our story opens after the battle of the Pesa or Bassa, and while both sides were gathering their forces, and beginning to move toward that still more decisive encounter in the wood of Celidon. Arthur, already Emperor, has sent Cian and Llywarch as envoys to summon the aid of the semi-independent city.
   All else that is needful will reveal itself as the story goes on.

                                                                                                                                        WILLIAM H. BABCOCK.
       ROCK HAVEN, NEAR GEORGETOWN,
                             March 12, 1898.

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. CIAN TO THE RESCUE   9
II. WITH THE GUARD OF THE GATE    23
III. THE FIGHT BEFORE THE SHRINE    35
IV. THE RETURN TO THE VILLA    45
V. A DIP INTO OLD ROME    52
VI. THE HOME OF AURELIA    57
VII. FEAST AND SONG    72
VIII. LONDON AND LONDON'S COUNCIL    78
IX. THE EMPEROR AND THE QUEEN    98
X. A VISIT TO THE SWORD OF FIRE   104
XI. THE PERPLEXITY OF ARTHUR AND THE MISSION OF OISIN    120
XII. ARTHUR WITH LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE    125
XIII. FOREBODING AND DANGER    133
XIV. THE CONFLICT AT THE LAKE VILLAGE    140
XV. LONDON BEFORE THE STORM   150
XVI. AN INTERVIEW WITH THE DEAD    162
XVII. THE FIRST SERVICE OF THE CHARIOTS    172
XVIII. THE MIRTHFULNESS OF GUINEVERE     181
XIX.. ARTHUR AT LEGIOLUM    190
XX. IN THE VALES OF ARGOED    195
XXI. A RIDE THROUGH THE SAXON-WASTED LAND    202
XXII. AMONG THE CAVE-DWELLERS OF THE SCAUR    208

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XXIII. THE RIDE TO ISURIUM AND A WILDER RIDE HOME-WARD     224
XXIV. FROM LOIDIS TO LEGIOLUM    241
XXV. ARTHUR IN COUNCIL    248
XXVI. IN THE FOREST OF CELIDON    255
XXVII. A PASSAGE AT ARMS BETWEEN LANCELOT AND VORTIMER    260
XXVIII. THE NIGHT BATTLE OF THE GREAT WOOD    271
XXIX. THE BLOWING OF THE ELFIN HORN    279
XXX. THE DEATH OF AN ARMY    286
XXXI. THE TOKEN OF OISIN AND THE MARCH TO LONDON    292
XXXII. BROUGHT TO THE LIGHT    299
XXXIII. HOW ARTHUR AND CIAN RAISED THE SIEGE    309
XXXIV. THE MYSTERIES OF MONA    330
XXXV. HOW ARTHUR DEALT WITH THE HEATHEN    338
XXXVI.. THE FIERY TRIAL OF CIAN    345
XXXVII. AURELIA AT CAMELOT    352
XXXVIII. HOW SANAWG WAS THE SUMMONER OF CIAN    357
XXXIX. THE LONG BATTLE OF CAMELOT    362
XL. HOW CIAN SAVED ARTHUR FROM CERDIC    377
XLI. ALL WELL ENDED    390

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CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS.

CHAPTER I.

CIAN TO THE RESCUE.

Thou Guider of the chariot of Arthur.
--GILDER.

RED through the fringe of the river of mist, it shone to the eye of Cian, Arthur's fighting man, Briton of Britons, prince and poet of the north. The sunset was on him. He had halted a little over the round of the hill, where the ancient Ermine way came southward out of the woods.
   He marvelled at the unwholesome ruddiness in that dying light, the parti-colored streaking of distemper, the ruinous upjutting of wall and house-top bathed in the dimming vapor. Only in one spot a white tower, delicately strong, lifted itself high above the reek. He knew it for the work of a people whom he did not love, a race that had but lately melted from the land, with its magic of beauty and of power. And still the vapor shroud flowed on above the liv-

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ing stream, and the town enfeebled and hidden, until it spread over the eastern marshes like an inland sea.
   The soul of London seemed melting by him, and away. He called to mind the young strength and glory of Camelot, the ripe splendor of far Caerleon. Words of forecast came to him, as they came full often and strangely. He said aloud, "A city in its winding-sheet; a dying city."
   A strong figure was that of Cian Gwenclan; every way memorable. Cian of the chariots, men oftenest called him; Cian of the golden mail, from the flexile body-garment,--a filmy corselet hiding the good bronze or steel,--which burned even now in the low sunbeams. Over the heart a single spray of mistletoe was wrought in silver. It had a magical look and name. This repute often befriended him.
   His chariot stood near,--for almost alone among northern princes he fought and journeyed in the light rushing war-vehicle of elder Britain,--the brown horse turning from the light, the carven boar's head grinning on the front of it, the helmet and weapons glowing within where he had flung them down.
   His eyes were deep, dark, and bright in that western glow, his face dark and vivid also,--a warrior-minstrel face of action and many musings. The hair fell to his shoulders in masses, fine, glossy black, gently waving. He wore the long mustache also of his time. He had the bearing and stature befitting

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an equestrian of Arthur's court, a veteran of rough campaigns.
   There came a patter of hoofs behind; and Llywarch of Argoed, in the saddle, drew up at his side. Llywarch had the fuller outline, a trifle the lesser height. His raised visor showed a younger-looking countenance, winning and flushed. The heart shone out of it. There were mischief and waywardness in the hazel eyes, but also uprightness and clear wisdom at need. Like his friend Cian and many others of their rank, in that romantic day, he touched the harp-strings, and put words of melody to them; although not yet had suffering and loss wrung from him that enduring poetry which later ages associate with his name.
   "Not the cheerfullest of places," quoth he, with a glance at the city. "Yet after all it is no more than water in the air. And you--hatching prophecy and destruction, I warrant? You look it."
   Cian regained his seat, and replied: "I have been waiting for a man who has time to follow stray footmarks in the woods, when the emperor sends him."
   Llywarch grew sober. "It was an archer who made that footprint," said he, "a lively fellow who can hit his mark from a swaying bough. See here," and he put his finger to an arrow-dent in his casque. "By the time I was right in the saddle again my grinning marksman was gone. I followed as far as

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a brookside, but that was all of him. I began to fear that he would let fly at me out of the water."
   "A Saxon?"
   "Not a doubt of that."
   "So near the great city? When the stag weakens, the wolves gather. Listen."
   They looked at each other, as the cry of a wolf indeed came lugubriously from the depth of the wood. As they rode on, it opened again, with purpose in it; then another and another, a succession of racing voices.
   They were descending a tongue of the highlands which tapered very gradually into the marsh by the northern wall. On their left a depression deepened and widened into a ravine, where mist-films were drifting, and water murmured. Beyond it, farther down, they could discern the outline of some large low building. Lights were coming out in it. Beyond, masses which might be villa ruins half showed themselves. But everything grew momently thicker to the sight, and, indeed, could scarcely be seen with certainty at all, unless it stood on high ground in the very eye of the west.
   They had neither met nor passed any wayfarer. The road was all their own. No sound came to them but of the wolves, the low-complaining runnel, and the uneasy soul of London, murmuring. It was a region where great wealth had been and should be

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again, but not the remotest wilderness could be more lonesome and desolate.
   "Are they after us, I wonder?" queried Llywarch, with a smile; for armed and mailed men had no need to concern themselves at that season. It was comical to be wolf-hunted, with an emperor's despatches, into one of the great cities of the world.
   "Hardly," answered Cian. "It seems rather like the purposeless demon-hunting of old tales and winter nights. Listen. See."
   He pointed down obliquely to where that sinister hurrying chorus came up again from the slant of the farther side. Fancy and eye-straining gave them vision of dim, long, swollen figures, making forward ravenously. The lights of the villa were seen in sudden motion, and voices called with anxious inquiry and dismay. The horses meanwhile made wild haste down the road, the mere presence of the wolves being more than any whip or spur.
   Then from over the gulf came the scream of a child and a woman's call for aid, in evident extremity of need. They shouted back, and plunged down together, uncertain of obstacles, forcing the horses on as into the shock of battle. As they went they could hear before them exclamations of horror and repulsion, the child's broken wailing, and the ring of metal on stone; but no more call to them, for the woman knew they were coming.

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   Only as Cian sped up alone over the crest, a glad cry broke from her. He saw the sweep of a great weapon, and heard a brutish howl. Then his right wheel struck and shattered, the chariot spun round, pitching over, and he barely saved himself by a forward leap. That landed him among the already scattering pack, and his sword cut into them right and left, as he made his way to her.
   He had not, for long, the picture before him there which abode in memory always. Where some white goddess had toppled over in the ruin of the villa garden, on the tall pedestal the lady towered above her crouching sister, the over-heavy battle-axe shearing every way in her hands, a divine maid, the very genius of armed and wrathful protection.
   Instantly her enemies were gone. The mist of the deep hollow received them. With long breaths, she dropped her weapon behind her, and leaned back on the helve of it, unhurt, her brow smoothing itself, and a smile growing in her face, but weariness growing also.
   "I cannot tell you how I thank you," she said, with labor, as he came near, holding out hands of aid. "Go, Sylvia," she added faintly.
   Pretty Sylvia was still in the bewilderment of terror; but she glanced upward at her tall sister in new concern and surprise,--for how could weakness be there? Then she gave herself, nestling and shudder-

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ing, to the arms of the stranger. When he had set her down beside him, she remained watchful and silent, except for a word of persuasion,--"Aurelia! Aurelia!"--as he reached up his hands again.
   "I must be a Saxon this time, and rob the pedestal," said he reassuringly.
   She waved his hand aside with a smile, then laid her own on his shoulder to descend." I would rather not be pulled down and broken. That is the Saxon way," said she.
   But she lingered, swaying.
   He watched her, fearing a fall, and ready; yet answered," I do not carry my animosity so far. Though I have little love for Roman gods, old or new."
    "Then I will be Hecate no longer," she said, laughing weakly, and let herself down with a half spring.
   It was her utmost endeavor. As her feet touched the ground, she bent, and would have quite fallen, but for his arm thrown around her. She had no choice but to rest against him a moment.
   "The goddess of feebleness, if there ever was one!" she murmured ruefully.
   I am Cian Gwenclan," he said. "Rest easy. Breath and vigor will come again."
   Small wonder if he were not very eager for that revival, her face being very near his shoulder, her

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form close against his own. Her imperial womanliness, unwillingly appealing, carried his whole nature by storm. In all his stirring life, Cian had never felt so almost fiercely happy.
   "Cian of the Chariots? Prince Cian of the golden mail, whom we have heard about?" she said after an interval; then she straightened herself, remembering that this knowledge had first come by touch. But she added frankly, "Before you spoke I knew you. My name you have heard. My father is Constantine the merchant, grandson of Constans, who was Cæsar, as you know. And to-night--but that does not matter. Our home is just above, the only one left near. But for you, the wolves would have torn us."
   There was an involuntary movement toward him, but she felt the little one pulling distressfully at her tunic.
   "What makes him smile so?" demanded Sylvia. "I don't like him to smile that way."
   She did not mean Cian, though some such odd notion at first came into his mind. Her gaze was on a dark wolf-form which lay twitching, too low for them to see plainly. Cian took up the axe, and ended it at a blow.
   "That was hardly needed," he said. "You should be a warrior maiden of olden time, such as the legends tell."

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   "It was the weapon," she said. "I picked up that massive thing, as I hurried out after our truant."
   "Massive--yes! And I have borne arms up the hills by the Duglas, and in the deep sands of the Glem."
   By this time lights and voices were wandering anxiously. She called back to them. Cian added his voice, "Ho, Llywarch!" as they with Sylvia began moving away.
   For answer the horse of the prince of Argoed came and stood riderless before them. Cian gave a quick cry; then called vehemently, "Llywarch! Llywarch! Llywarch!"
   In the confusion of voices now centring on them he could not find that of his friend; but a sound of savage worrying came up out of the hollow. He wavered for a moment. "Go!" said she, and he began rushing down the slope. At a little distance the answer of Llywarch halted him; and as Cian turned aside, the two were together.
   "The child--the woman?" Llywarch demanded.
   "Safe,--but I feared"--
    "What, that the messenger of Arthur had gone to the wolves? No, man, I am all here--and rather more of me by weight than formerly. For I have been headlong into the mire, I promise you."
   "But what is that?" indicating the noise below.

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   "I cannot say. Let us see."
   Guided by ear, they came presently on a clump of dark bodies in turmoil, working away mercilessly at something on the ground. Cian had drawn back his sword, when lantern-light shone on it and its living target. Several voices called on him to forbear. "They are our brave house-guards," Aurelia explained, as she joined them. "Off, Dorwach! Here, Juno!"
   They were beyond mistaking now. The body of the great mastiff was too thick and furry for any of his wild kin; and though the hound, his companion, was leaner and smoother, no wolf ever came thus gambolling about a mistress. Little Sylvia screamed, for there was blood all over their jaws, and the lamplight made it vivid, while their antics brought it very near.
   "One of the wounded enemy," said Llywarch, bending over something which they had left. "Served as Caowl, the woodlander, would serve a Saxon. I have no liking for that inhuman way."
   "The dogs have done well," said one of the attendants, in surly protest.
   "Well for dogs with wolves," replied Aurelia. " Not so well for men with men. You see," she added, turning to the gentlemen, "our people have no wish to be the thralls of sea-robbers."
   Llywarch was examining the dead wolf closely.

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"A strong blow," said he. " I marvel the beast got so far. Shoulder bitten through from in front--blade-bitten. Chest laid half open. A strong blow--yet not a man's blow," he added, raising himself inquiringly.
   "I remember the frightful creature," said Aurelia, quivering a little. "He was the worst of them."
   "This is the lady whose father we were bidden to have speech with," said Cian, and presented his friend in due form.
   "Also," remarked Llywarch, "the lady who saved herself while two fighting men of Arthur's camp were making a poor pretence of coming to her aid." He drew his face down ruefully.
   "I was not stuck in a bog," observed Cian.
   For indeed all the upper part of Prince Llywarch was eloquent beyond expounding, the helmet, especially, being two or three of itself in mass, notwithstanding a continual dislodgement. The domestics began laughing. Even Aurelia half joined. "Come," said she, "we who caused your distress at least will relieve it. Surely you will go no farther now."
   Llywarch shook his head. "Our first charge is to deliver, somewhat within the gates," he said. "To our grief, we may not tarry--unless there be other noble damsels by the way who keep tryst with wild animals in the dark."

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   "You will find none," she said; "all is waste between here and the walls."
   "And you linger on with the wolves?"
   "We linger. But they rarely come ravening like this. It is held an evil sign."
   "Of the Saxon?"
   "So say our people; and there has been dreadful work eastward. However, by day all is yet safe here from man and beast. This is a rare place for play, and garden flowers run wild. No doubt Sylvia slipped off on some such quest, and lingered until the twilight surprised her. Was it not so, Sylvia?"
   The child began to whimper at the remembrance. "Let us go home; do let us go home," was her imploring cry.
   "Patience, darling. Yet I, too, think that would be well. Gentlemen, I urge no one from duty; but since you have errands with my father, we may perhaps hope to see you soon again."
   "But is he not at the city?"
   "Yes; and it is as well. Though if spared the wolf-howling and worrying"--
   "He enjoys other fraternal sounds. There they are again."
   From distant London angry calls came confusedly.
   "Yes," she replied with a sigh; "farewell, until you return--with my gratitude."

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   "Ours, much rather," said Cian and Llywarch in a breath.
   As they spoke she turned away with her men. From the other side the princes' horses were brought. There was a saddle on Cian's already. It was bridled also. They regained the road easily, and pressed on again.
   "A surpassing woman!" commented Llywarch, after silence.
   "Imperial," assented Cian. "Hence our errand, it may be." The words had an ill taste evidently.
   "Cian," said Llywarch with seriousness, "it is hardly for us to judge. But the emperor will not, I deem, look outside of the house of Caradoc. He can very ill spare the right arm of his realm and host; but he knows if there were one man here such as she, London would count for Britain."
   "There is her father."
   "He is the last you should praise. Rome has gone. You cannot turn the stream backward. That is what Constantine seeks to do. Nevertheless, he may have a trial."
   But there was more against Constantine than his worship of old. He had thriven vastly in trade, whatever his claim by birth, beginning with hidden stores put by in the great exodus with the legions, to be found by those who knew. He could marshal wealth and the wealth-bringers mightily and with

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skill; and very proud he was of some resemblance in feature to that great Julius who crossed the Rubicon into empire. But the dread of loss came easily to him; and he had the trader's instinct to conciliate and bargain, rather than the iron hand of the soldier, holding its purpose with firm grip unto the end.

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CHAPTER II

WITH THE GUARD OF THE GATE.

Of manly disposition was the youth.
--ANEURIN.

THE two travellers passed from the high ground to the causeway which pierced the strip of marsh that lay just beyond the city wall at and near the Ermine gate. The air was foul, the fog wrapping them closely. Dim forms, which might mean anything, even fancy, brushed by them. All sounds were muffled. Those ahead, though near, had seemingly grown more distant. The wall, when at last it loomed over them, was very welcome.
   Ascending a little, they entered a broad gateway. A light shone transversely. They saw before them the glint of crossing metal, and the two helmeted spearmen who thus barred their way. The customary challenge was given.
   "We are friends," answered Llywarch, "and glad enough to get in out of the corpse-breath. We are officers of Arthur the Emperor, too, no matter what we may look like in this guise."
   His eyes ran dismally over himself.

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   "Moreover, we bear a letter from him to your city rulers," added Cian.
   The soldiers were opening the way, awed, yet grinning as often as their eyes met the figure of the miry Prince of Argoed; but one came forward, lantern in hand, with a light, quick step, at whose gesture the spear-points dropped again.
   "Your first words," he said, "would have let you through over willingly, for a British fighting man is of all men the most welcome just now. And I do not doubt you shall have the greater honor for slight delay. But this is matter of moment, it would seem, and must be referred to the captain of the guard. Call him;" and he turned to one of the men.
   They could see that he had a slight figure, unarmored, as though he had risen in haste to make inquiry; a young subaltern, it was plain, and of a type to hold boyishness well into riper years. Close-curling hair between red and gold, a light pointed mustache, an alert, intelligent face, a mantle of rich red stuff and tossing embroidery, a general impression of quick motion and brightness,--these made up the rest of the half-shadowed picture. All his attire ran very near a delicate foppery. A two-edged sword of the old leaf pattern hung sheathed from his side. His belt bore also a dagger and an elfin-like forester's horn.
   Cian looked him over, with sudden recognition.

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   "I know you very well, Dynan, son of the Three Shouts; it seems, though, you do not remember me."
   Dynan's face lighted responsively. He stepped forward, offering his hand.
   "How should I know you," he answered, " without your chariot, and back yonder in the shadow. Moreover, you have thrown something around the natural golden glitter of you," as indeed the dense fog had prompted.
   "And this," he continued, "Llywarch of Argoed, surely!--in misfortune?" and he began to laugh.
   "Yes, Llywarch, who swam the Duglas with you to get at certain Saxons. He would like to swim a few more rivers just now. Known at present as Llywarch the Wallower."
   "We thought you had gone home," said Cian.
   "Rightly," answered Dynan. "But who could stay there? By the time all my neighbors had quarrelled with me because I wouldn't make fairy gold according to my lineage, and hadn't any coin of my own, I found it best to do my fighting farther away, in town-service.
    "And so you chose London!" suggested Llywarch disparagingly.
   Dynan raised his eyes with a quick movement. "Not first nor most wisely," said he. "I have eaten the bread of Caer Segeint the Beautiful. I have held

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the gates, also, of the White Town of the Wrekon, the Shining City. But this--I call it the sulking den, the cave of unreason, the hive that quarrels inwardly, unappeasably."
   "Don't snarl at the paymaster, lad. Never do that," announced a strong voice, nearing them. A hand was laid familiarly on Dynan's shoulder--a hand with a strong tendency to grip, and showing the knuckles over plainly; for this Osburn the Frank was a very oak of a man, everything about him giving the impression of rooted strength. He had a large forehead over keen blue eyes, and a way of thrusting out his long chin, as he uttered his curt sentences. His broad, bony face was bearded all over with stubble, in contrast to the mustachioed Britons.
   "I am centurion of the gate," he explained." That is all just now. Where I am put, I stay. Where I am sent, I go. And I don't growl about it. I don't, if the money comes. What, then, have you brought us?"
   "A letter-imperial from Arthur, our emperor," answered Llywarch formally. "It is addressed to the ruler or rulers of London, by his or their proper style or title, whosoever and whatsoever he or they--and it--may be."
   Osburn's face twitched with grim enjoyment.
   "The council is trying to find out," he replied dryly." They will scarce hear you to-night."

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   "I pray you arrange for audience to-morrow then," said Cian. "The emperor will bear no trifling."
   "Amen!" responded Osburn. "A strong hand is needed. Dynan, see who is uppermost at the basilica. If Constantine, all will be well. Tell him. If not--the best you can. Shout, if beset. Any one of the three shouts,--your inheritance."
   Dynan laughed. "About all of it, except a fund of tolerance for bad jokes."
   Forthwith he was gone for his armor.
   Following Osburn, who followed Dynan, the envoys entered, through a narrow side passage, a lighted guard-room in a bastion-like thickening of the wall. Here all seemed in practicable order and readiness. Armor, chiefly bronze, hung on the walls with a reddening gleam. Weapons were shining where they leaned together in corners or from racks that held them. Large men of divers aspects, though sufficiently alike in attire, sat about or lounged or stood. One pair of them looked up from a board of draughts, or some such game. A soldierly set, but gathered from everywhere, for a few seemed Britons.
   Osburn turned to Llywarch: "Better leave your shell, it needs brightening;" and, at the word, one came forward, grimacing, to render aid. It was not possible to look at the mud-caked paladin very solemnly. He took their mirth cheerily, as usual.
   Presently they were ushered into what had been

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a series of cells, where, on the smallest possible scale, the Roman officers had persisted of old in their elaborate bathing system. The ornaments were mostly plastered over now, and the partitions knocked down for greater elbow room; but water was to be had very amply.
   Passing thence to the dining-hall, they found it absurdly narrow for its length, as the conditions compelled. The mural paintings were preserved, though fading; two long processionals, which could never have been very good. On the board sundry Roman pieces of varying merit still held their ground amid spoils of raid or purchase, mementos brought from over sea, and chance findings of every kind, a very strange medley. A vase of coralline Samian ware, with hunting scenes winding over it, beside a green-ribbed Saxon goblet, translucent and tapering slenderly; a silver platen alive with racing nymphs under an acorn-shaped cup, older than the Celts, of polished Kimmeridge coal.
   Two other officers awaited them at supper; and soon the soldiers off guard came in, taking the lower seats.
   The talk began, wandered, then came to an end. All saw that Osburn was listening uneasily. At last he held up Dynan's elfin horn--transparent as the summer heaven, yet threaded with wild scrollwork of fire.

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   "He has left what some call his luck," said Osburn gravely, neither denying nor affirming, as became a man who had served respectfully under many gods, and knew that strange influences were astir among men.
   "But we have it, and he goes on our errand," answered Llywarch.
   "Do you thus read the omen?"
   "God forbid that we should waste time in construing what a few minutes will reveal. But ask Cian, if you will. He has been to the Druids."
   One of the lesser officers looked at Cian with heightened interest. The other made the sign of the cross.
   Cian's lip twitched. "Oh, this horn is not of the devil," said he. "You know the tale."
   "Not certainly," said Osburn.
   "Then my prophecy is that Llywarch, being glib of tongue and smooth of humor, will surely tell you."
   Llywarch bowed low, but fell in with their wish. "Before our time," he said, "there were dwarfs and elves and powers of enchantment in the land, as all men know; and some have lingered on in hidden places, now and then showing themselves, for good or ill, to one of our race. In deep glens and forest shadows you meet them, it is said, and chiefly by the fountains that come bubbling up with the life of the under-world.

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   "In such a country as this dwelt Dynan's mother's mother's mother, I know not how remote in ancestry. One day, passing through the meadows to bathe, as was her custom, in a secret pool fed by undying springs under curtaining boughs, she heard a faint cavern-muffled call from before her, and was minded to return. But coming a little nearer, she found the place quite vacant, save for dipping ouzels and water-rats that went gliding away. Having waited a while, she laid aside her garments, and stepped in through the shallows. Then again out swelled the cry, but now deep-throated, vehement, exultant, and very near, seeming to heave up the water before some bodily presence. It thrilled and wrapped and all but overcame her; yet she sprang away, snatching her clothing, and wrapping it around her as she ran. And, running thus, she heard yet a third time that voice of the under-world, but now sent after her in accents of more than human despair. Yet she had seen no form at all; and the Three Shouts was the only name she could ever give, or which might be given."
   "But what is this to Dynan?" demanded Osburn.
   "Why, if the story be told truly, she must have sought that pool again--overcoming her fear, or because of it, for there are strange things in enchantment. It is thought, also, she made tryst with him otherwhere. A dimness, not human nor heavenly, was seen beside her in lonely rambles; and one starlit

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eve she had vanished quite away. Long afterward she returned, and bore a son among her own people, with a tale of wedlock in wild, lonely places, by rites unknown; and this magical token, wrought by no earthly hand, she showed as her voucher. When the right lips blow it, the voice of the Three Shouts will be sent abroad, and hosts of terrible power will come to the rescue. But they exact their price, and claim their own."
   Cian took the horn from Osburn's hand, poising it carefully. "Shall I blow it, for trial?" said he.
   "Forbear!" cried his host uneasily.
   Even while he yet held it, yielding, there came a far cry to them. All looked through the wall windows toward the house-lights, which glimmered across a broad open belt.
    "No distress in that!" exclaimed Osburn. "He is on the way."
   "Good," said Llywarch. "Now make Cian tell you how he saved a pack of wolves this evening from a terrible lady."
   "What!"
   "Aurelia, daughter of Constantine," explained Cian gravely.
    "So she fought the wolves?" queried Osburn.
    "Protecting her little sister."
   "And she hewed down well?"

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   "You should have seen. But the axe wearied her."
   "Of course, of course!" and Osburn looked from one of his officers to another with eager appeal. "There's a woman, grand and lovely! Emperor's blood, they say. A king's daughter, at any rate! To-night will show."
   Some of his men looked uncertain or indifferent, but the most were evidently with him. Cian and Llywarch turned to each other in congratulation.
   "For how long?" suggested Cian.
   "There you have it. That is the worst. How long?--I don't know. I don't know my own title in this place. One day I am centurion--when the Romans, as they call themselves, are uppermost. The next, I am commander of a hundred--then the Britons, so called, rule. Once Constantine has been consul; once, tribune. Now he is to be king. And there have been chiefs and princes and governors, and what not. And the factions wrangle, and the city goes to ruin, and the Saxons draw nearer, and the wolves howl about the gates. Whatever else we need, we need--Arthur."
   Seeing that he longed for it, they told him then fully of Arthur the Guledig,--Arthur the Emperor, as men would say. They told what manner of man this was in camp and court and daily converse, who had risen steadily, a star of hope for all the land;

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his campaigns, how fought, and whither tending; his every hope and plan so far as made known among his following, while yet he stood there by the northern border, watchful. "Stanch men, like you," said Llywarch, "are men after his own heart."
   Osburn kept silence a minute. Much of this did not come newly to him; but it was a tale well told again, and they rounded hints and fragments with fuller and surer knowledge. At last he said,--
   "I like the wise brain; I like the strong hand--the man who can learn from Rome, live for Britain, and yet value any soldier. That leader is mine who has never yet been beaten. If they choose Constantine, and he chooses me, London is for Arthur."
   They looked at him with widened interest, for he spoke assuredly. His men followed with sounds and signs of applause, but their eyes opened as at something new.
   "May it indeed be so!" Cian answered. "What force have you here?"
   "A legion--which is a half-legion--in fair shape, at the gates and the White Tower. And the citizens turn out--sometimes. And there are always spears--a few--about Caer Collin, our worst border. And the foresters will fight, but as readily against us, for Vortimer of the Andred-wood. The city is full of them now. That is Dynan's danger. What keeps him?"

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   "You can't go fast through the fog."
   "True. But it's too long. By St. John!--too long."
   For Osburn was confusedly Christian in his swearing. He clenched his hand as he spoke; when another cry from Dynan brought them all to their feet together. It came from far to the right, and this time there could be no doubt at all of its exceeding urgency. In a breath each man snatched his armor, and then all went tumbling out--one on the heels of another--except the very few that Osburn's hasty word in passing bade remain on guard. He restored some part of order as they ran.

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CHAPTER III.

THE FIGHT BEFORE THE SHRINE.

He that was the shelter in battle.
--LLYWARCH.

OSBURN'S precautions, rapid though they were, held him a little behind his anxious guests. Presently these also parted company in the fog; and Cian, being the nimbler, found himself racing on alone, with merely sound for a guide.
   There had been enough of it all that evening about London; but it was easy to single one commotion with the din of real combat in it. He made this his aim, shouting ahead to hearten Dynan and the two or three soldiers who were with him.
   The moon was up now, though pale and slender, and the veil began slowly thinning away. They were in that forsaken belt left by Roman custom between houses and city wall; in this instance broader than usual by reason of the dying of the outskirts, and also much more desolate. Now they were stumbling over ruinous brickwork; now routing dim sneaking beast forms out of their lairs, and sending them scurrying onward; now splashing through pools and mire which

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proved that the northern marsh was beginning to spread within the wall.
   Suddenly Osburn and Llywarch, now together, were aware of figures dimly flitting backward from them; and at a turning by an old corner of masonry a fury of weapons, curses, limbs, and faces came at them all together, holding them for a moment. Then it vanished as suddenly.
   Cian heard the clash and uproar obliquely behind him, but kept on. A light and agile figure leaped in front of him, with the voice of the elf-son Dynan. "So near? I came for aid; come now!" Forthwith he was flying back, while Cian followed as best he could. It was not their first race into danger, but no wholly mortal man could equal that speed.
   For a moment the elf-son was lost to sight, then discovered in violent action, while a form flew from him, moaning. He sprang, his sword fell again, and he sped on. As Cian passed the spot, a form, dead or living, at full length, nearly tripped him. Glancing back, he could see fighting, or fancy that he saw it, where tumult had broken out afresh around the voice of Llywarch. At the crossing of a little rill, two men faced him; but he sprang by, dealing one of them a backward blow. Twenty yards farther he saw Dynan spring on the skirts of a throng with nimble execration, while men scattered right and left. Before they closed again Cian also was cutting vehe-

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mently among them, while a third figure broke outward to his aid. The three together made such clearance that they won swiftly to a little apse or shrine which had served already as a shelter.
   Here some pious legionary had reared, of old, a small temple, it may be to Juno or Proserpine, doubtless a lovely thing in its day. But the pillars had fallen long ago, and very little indeed remained beside that cave-like half-dome and its supporting walls, with two forward running wings of masonry, which left only a narrow entrance with a litter of fragments before it. Inside, three or four men could yet find room, though not with ample motion. A soldier crouched there, unable to dash out with his comrade, but holding his spear forward still.
   Cian took a step out of the portal, and his foot slipped on the rounded body of the deity cast down. His hand, coming on it to stay his fall, was wet with blood. A dead man lay half across the marble, face on breast.
   There had like to be another; for the enemy, very near, took advantage of his mishap, and one spear at least would surely have gone through him, but that Dynan turned it, and leaped in, thrusting thrice to a breath, until the point found an undefended spot and the man fell. In a moment the elf-son was out and beyond, flitting over obstacles and under blows, bounding, twisting, lunging and striking, everywhere

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at once, like a figure driven by some prodigious spring-work.
   Cian, busy enough himself, kept an eye on this darting friend, for he felt that the ending of it all must be very near. Twice he dashed out to Dynan's aid, but each time that ally was elsewhere already. At last, with a great bound, the nimble-footed fellow came over one of the masonry wings, landing close behind Cian. Then he gave forth once, brokenly, his peculiar call for aid, and fell exhausted before the entrance and the altar.
   Cian stepped back, watching warily the rush that followed, and making the best use of edge and point that he could. The strait was so narrow and cumbered that there was rarely a chance for a full blow; but his enemies were hampered likewise, and they also jostled each other, while not one was nearly a match in fence for the best swordsman, save two, of Arthur's court. Had there been but fair light to see him, the tall dark prince of the northern hills, sword in hand, framed by the rough temple archway, had never appeared more grandly. From each side of him, too, a spear-point darted out, gashing one or another of his assailants in breast or limb, as they were driven over near.
   More than once they surged quite up to him, ebbing again after fierce stabbing at close quarters, almost like throbbing of steel. Rather by touch than

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by sight, he knew that some of them were in armor, some skin-clad, some all but naked, and with weapons as various. "Who are they?" he asked, at a half-minute's breathing spell.
   The soldier first wounded was beyond answering. The other replied weakly, "Foresters, rabble, a few of our own men, townspeople who have bought armor, all sorts"--
   But again they were on him together, at the closest quarters and with the deadliest intent. One led them whom he had marked before as the most persistent of all, a shorter man than himself, yet of good height and very active, with sinewy arms and a passionately hostile face. "Tigernach, Tigernach!" he cried, as if his ominous name were a spell.
   "And I am Cian Gwenclan," was the proud answer. At the same time the moon shone out more plainly. However paled in that gleam, there could be no mistaking the golden lustre nor the silver spray.
   Now indeed it seemed that a spell was working very strangely. Tigernach drew back bodily, shouldering those behind him. "It is Cian of the Chariots," he cried, turning. "I will not fight him of the golden mail, the heirloom of the awful dead. I will not fight the mistletoe, nor yet Arthur the Guledig."
   "Why not," said one, "if he lays open my arm?"
   Nevertheless, they swayed about, with signs of melting; then vanished dispersedly, as hurrying calls

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were heard near at hand. Other forms fleeted by, with Llywarch hotly behind them.
   "Praise Mary!" he cried, seeing his friend yet living.
   "For letting good men be slain while doing their duty?" inquired Cian, with a glance at the dead soldier. "Or for the wonderfully swift feet of Argoed?"
   "Swift enough," said Dynan, as he rose achingly by sheer will. "See what comes of swiftness. But where's Osburn?"
   For answer, they could hear a new clangor and cursing voices not far away. Hurrying thither,--Dynan for once hobbling desperately in the rear,--they came on the stout centurion, with two or three of his men, holding a clump of the enemy penned in an angle of a broken wall, whence they endeavored to escape, now and then one succeeding. But they did not stir Osburn from his foothold. His blows and anathemas were hammer-like, men rattling down under them. Just as his re-enforcement came up, the last few of these human rats in a trap, with a frantic effort, went scrambling over the ragged masonry behind them, while hip-slashes and a blast of hoarse words helped them up and on. Osburn turned from them with laughter, and presently had Dynan by the hand. His eyes were eager questioners. Dynan, when breath would serve him, answered as eagerly.
   This was his tale:

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   Going in, he had no disquiet beyond a continual hovering in the fog, as of spectres, but there was confusion enough when once among the houses; and the council-house, or basilica rather, seemed a place of frenzy, the party of Constantine claiming power already by election, and their opponents furiously contesting it. Nevertheless, he gave the message, and received instead a summons and an invitation, which was a warning. To Osburn: "Come; bring your men; expect preferment;" and to Arthur's envoys: "Pray rest at my home until to-morrow." Also he was adjured to hasten, and watch keenly.
   This he did. But soon after his first call the way was barred, and he was driven to edge away and make détours, until he reached the shrine by the wall. There, being closely pressed, he left his two followers to make good their den, and darted by and through their enemies to bring aid.
   "It has a bad look," he conceded ruefully; "but if either of them could have stirred his toes a third as fast as I, he should have gone instead. Now, there's a leader's qualifications for you!"
   Osburn pressed his hand reassuringly. They had regained the shrine. It was surprising to find, after all, how little fatal damage had been done. But there was blood enough about certainly.
   Cian could feel his own trickling, while a weak indifference gained on him. Presently his head swam

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and rang; but he held up and said nothing, as they moved back toward the Ermine gate. He heard some stern order from Osburn about leaving the wounded enemy where they lay, and Llywarch's kindly protest. Then there was a startled exclamation; and he felt them supporting him, while some hand presented a flask to his lips.
   When he quite came to life again, a surgeon was saying, "He need not be much the worse for it;" while a soldier bathed his limbs, and bandages went around them. He knew that he was in the wall-quarters of the guard again.
   Every face showed pleasure that his hurts were no worse; but he was very sore, and felt it all as a satirical absurdity. "A rabble-mauled veteran," he said with deliberate effort. "One Cian, a swordsman, formerly known at Camelot."
   "Not all rabble, not all," answered Osburn. "Tigernach was there, a born chief of the forest, good at his weapons. We know him."
   "Swift as I nearly; obstinate almost as Osburn; hotter than either or any," added Dynan.
   Cian looked from face to face. "Why, Tigernach?" he said. "Ah! bring him in."
   "His forty wild followers may wait outside, I trust," suggested Llywarch.
   "You may trust him," answered Cian, putting his forefinger significantly on the silver mistletoe.

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   Tigernach entered, in hastily brightened mail, with brilliant apparel showing through the rifts and joinings. He carried himself so as to give an effect of greater height and shapeliness than in the recent struggle. He had the look of true Celtic fervor and irascible pride, with suggestions of romance also. His black eyes, keen and burning, were fixed on Cian, who was plainly far more to him than all besides.
   "We have mingled our blood by a very unfriendly rite," he said; "but you will not blame one who could not know."
   He turned the hollow of his shield outward. It also bore the silver mistletoe.
   "You know now," answered Cian, "and will stand by me and Arthur the Guledig?"
   He used the Celtic title. The forester bowed.
   "And by Constantine, King of London," pursued Cian.
   The other's lips twisted. "I have no liking for men who lie down to their meals," he said, "and pirate of Rome, Rome, Rome! But I suppose it must be."
   Osburn laughed sympathetically. "We may count on him," said he.
   "So thoroughly," added Cian, "that I take him and his tribesmen for my guard to-night, setting your men free."
   Osburn hesitated. Llywarch looked uneasy.

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   "That is going far on scant knowledge," he said. "No offence to this spirited gentleman, but we should not be the worse for a dozen drilled soldiers also. Bear in mind, Cian, that there is a lady to be looked after."
   "And we savages are unworthy?" commented Tigernach. "As you will. As pleases you!" He forced a laugh.
   "Perhaps it is from the lady that he should be guarded," whispered Dynan.
   "You are right," answered the woodland chief, his face partly clearing at the jest, also in memory of her, for every man in the little kingdom knew the kind charm of Aurelia.
   Osburn decided: "All are right. We trust Tigernach. Prince Cian shall have him--and his men. Prince Llywarch shall have my men, whom he honors by preference. But I can't spare many. Dynan, I commit to you the royal villa and this gate; the princess, who is waiting; the Saxons, who maybe. Now I must go."
   Dynan drew a long breath, looking blank. "So much for an enchanted reputation!" he said. " If it were not for the gnats and the ghosts and poisoned air, I would make my headquarters in the marsh midway. I shall get a fine name as a flying cavalryman."

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CHAPTER IV.

THE RETURN TO THE VILLA.

To view the comely forms of the lovely ones.
-- Black Book of Caermarthen.

CIAN rode slowly, without speaking; for he still drooped, and every movement hurt him. Tigernach also was silent, but resentfully. Llywarch spoke in kindness.
   "You should not mind a soldier's frankness--a fellow woodlander's too. Which way lie your domains?"
   "In the heart of the great Andred wood, toward what they call Sussex now, on the old way to Anderida. We hold the ridge, and ever have held it. The Saxons did not come by me. After that town fell, they tried; but we cut up the first party in the thickets, and there never was a second."
   He warmed a little in speaking of this achievement.
   "You hold of London?" pursued Llywarch, with an interested air.
   "Why, so they hold. We do our buying here, and some of our fighting. This time Vortimer in-

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vited us--of the lower woodlands. He has some shadow-claim too, and a borrowed name from olden times that every Briton loves. But he looks the Saxon that he is, on the father's side. We lead our own life, and go our own ways."
    "You came lightly attended. Surely you do not usually adjust the affairs of London with half a hundred men."
   Tigernach laughed. "Such a kingdom! The only way to adjust a Londoner is to kill him. Then he knows his own mind, and is reasonable. As there was to be a fight, of course I came, with a few who were nearest, losing no time. Others will follow. Half my young men are on the way before this, if I know them."
    "I would send word," suggested Cian.
   Tigernach took on a more deferential tone. "That I have done. They will gather for us near the northern gate."
    "Re-enforcements for me!" cried Dynan, who had just ridden up, with breath and spirits back again. "We are well rid of the prisoners too. They didn't keep me long."
    "Ah!" growled Tigernach. Then he added calmly, "they were not of my people."
    "Oh, nothing in the way of slaughter. I turned them loose to bring recruits. One was a neighbor of yours, a tribesman of Caowl, that beetling-browed,

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slant-eyed, hard-fighting man. My compliments go with him."
   "Nimble of wit as of foot! Caowl will come over to us for that. Otherwise I harry him from one end of his land to the other."
   Dynan laughed merrily. "Dear neighbors are much the same in the Andred woods as up my way,--do as I bid, and, oh, how I love you!"
    "But you were given the prisoners to keep," said Cian.
    "There spoke Duty. Know, then, O Conscience! that our well-anchored commander bath endowed me with a huge discretion--which was wise and liberal of him, it being greatly needed. Moreover, I have the countenance of Prince Llywarch of Argoed."
   But Llywarch demurred at once, "Oh, no! my countenance was never a thing of red banners and blazes. My countenance is where it ought to be for decency's sake. Yet I did counsel mercy. It is well to err that way, as in over-care of friends."
   Tigernach bowed. "That is manful," said he.
   "And heart-warm," added Cian. "Thence comes all the craftiness of Llywarch."
   The lift of the land had taken them into clear moonshine. Looking back, they could see very little of London, except a low, formless gloom, with veiled glimmerings of light in it, and here and there a lamp on some house-roof or tower, shining like a red star.

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There was a diffused gleam about the basilica, and, more doubtfully, along the great bridge.
   The noise behind grew louder to them, as they ascended, but rarely made any one sound distinguishable. The howling of the wolves came from the hill-country quite as plainly.
   This time they crossed an affluent of the Wallbrook on a bridge a little above the villa. It must have been hidden from them by the fog and the twilight before--a strong bit of olden masonry, in the dip of a branch road, with passage for three horses abreast. New lights came out at this, moving from window to window. The lodge by the gate brightened also.
   A group of figures came hastening over the lawn, with sounds of laughter. When the gate swung open, Aurelia and Sylvia were there, breathing fast, but with eyes of welcome. Clad in white, flushed with exercise and expectancy, graceful and stately, with no thought of grace or stateliness, the tall daughter of Constantine had never looked more divine.
    "My father?" she inquired.
    "King Constantine, Princess," proclaimed Dynan. "Osburn the Frank is to be his general, at a bound. I have charge of the Ermine gate and this villa."
   While all made obeisance to her, she replied demurely, "Then we will all obey you as king at third hand, Dynan."

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   But Sylvia was not content. She pulled at her sister, and began to whimper. "Why don't they bow to me , if I am a princess too? Why don't they look at me ? I want to be a Princess."
   "And if you are," answered Aurelia, with a responsibly improving air, "be sure it will not add one cubit to your stature."
    "Heaven forbid, if I know anything of ancient measurement!" protested Llywarch. "Would you have this sweet little maiden shoot up all at once into a mate for the giant of Skiddaw?"
    "Prince Llywarch wishes to say that some of us are over-lofty already," expounded Aurelia to the lesser one.
   Llywarch looked that way too. "I will do homage to you, and be your champion, my bright little lady," said he.
   Sylvia eyed him with grave approval. Then, at a motion of Cian, she shook her ringlets. "This one; he has fought for me already," said she. There was a laugh, but she drew near to her rescuer confidingly. Even her slight touch fell by chance where it made him flinch.
    "See," she cried distressfully, "he is hurt. Aurelia, somebody has been hurting him."
    "Not much, dear," said Cian, laughing weakly at this new way of viewing his adventure. "That's what we are for, you know."

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   But Aurelia had heard. "Wounded? and I am keeping you here!" she exclaimed. "Oh, come, come! No, you shall not dismount. At the house, not before."
   She walked easily beside him. "We heard there had been fighting," she said gravely, "but not this."
   "I shall not grieve," said Cian. "It will keep me your guest a little time."
   "Nor shall I grieve for that," she replied frankly.
   Turning to those who came behind, she added in a clear, full voice, "All my father's friends are more than welcome."
   The soldiery clanked their swords on their shields in response, and the woodland men shouted vociferously. Her beauty, her lavish benignity, the warmth and strength of her nature, were not new to them, but worshipful, as of old.
   They were now by the great front portico. Cian, dismounting, began to sway and reach. Aurelia stepped nearer. "It is my turn to help you," said she.
   He drew back, fearing to lean such weight on her. "Forgive me," said he, and rested his hand on the shoulder of Tigernach, who was there already.
   No greater sense of luxury had ever befallen him than when at last he lay full length in the chamber appointed, sipping a cordial, and disencumbered. With Tigernach watching, he soon slept.

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   Llywarch brought the good news to their hostess, all the more willingly for the quick turn of her head as he entered, and the inquiry in her kind eyes. He did not love her in the first person, but he was half in love with her for Cian's sake. He made it tenderly plain to her that Cian's wounds were trivial, and that the surgeon had so well treated them, that there was little, beyond common kindness, for anyone else to do. But the beauty of her home, he told her, would be in itself a reviving medicine.
   She truly needed comforting, for the strain of that evening had been severe. After her first great peril the wolf-voices had come to her again, hour by hour, as reminders. Her people had told her also of wild human figures that gathered on the hills or went savagely by. Also, there were both the rumor and the noise of conflict in that tormented city where her father was risking life to win a shadowy crown. But now all had gone fairly well. Her home for the time was in safety, and she, too, might sleep.

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CHAPTER V.

A DIP INTO OLD ROME.

Here the baths were
Hot on the breast.
--THE RUIN, Codex Exoniensis.

WHEN Cian awoke he was not at first very sure of his awakening. The scenes of the wild evening before melted into the equally strange fancies of the night, and shifted with them interchangeably. As his thought cleared, there was still something astounding and unreal in his memory of the shrouded city, the goddess come to life among the wolves, and that spectral combat of the shrine, where men of frantic and varied aspect, in what quarrel he hardly knew, dealt blows at him unceasingly out of the moonlit haze.
   But there was no haze now. The sun, very real and bright, came slanting in through the glassless windows. There were no bird songs. A dry leaf or two drifted by. Summer, after once leaving, had come back again in the lovely air.
   He had lifted himself on his elbow, and was inspecting a slit in his forearm, when Llywarch appeared.

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   What tidings?" Cian inquired.
    "Chiefly that the bud of the morning is uncommonly full blown, and that bath and breakfast wait. I am glad to see that the Gwenclan has enough of 'pure blood' left to warrant his title."
    "Oh, I shall live. But as to the bath: you know my way."
    "Cold water in great severity. It is no doubt a thing of virtue. But when I hinted it a certain royal lady uplifted her brows at me. I think her counsel would be to have you sponged tepidly in bed, and anointed with healing unguents to slow music."
   His friend sat upright with a grimace.
    "Good!" said Llywarch. "Yet a little warmth in the water would be useful in removing blood-stains. Pray yield thus far to Roman effeminacy, and let me help about the bandages."
   Cian was looking at them, "I am less like a man than a disorderly bale of goods," he mused aloud. "How those fellows did get into me! There were enough of them. Is it far?"
    "Two rooms;" and Llywarch lent him a hand to rise, then led the way over a bright tessellated floor, flinging the silken door-curtains aside as they came.
   Cian entered the anteroom of the bath, and stood gazing.
   Before tendering his spear to the great Arthur, Prince Cian had been but a hillside ruler, the lord of

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a northern valley nook. Later, his had been mainly the soldier life; and he knew the Roman splendor by rumor only, or in mere external view. He could not choose but hear of the surpassing luxury which yet hid itself in a few safe and indolent places, as about the western Waters of the Sun. But he had been content to go on, disapproving, disregarding, in his own simpler ways. What he now saw was a revelation.
   The apartment was walled shoulder-high on the right and left with delicate, flower-painted tiles of many varying blossoms. Above these, Corinthian pillars of blue-veined marble, wound with vine-leaves and laurel, rose to the ceiling. The light admitted was nearly as brilliant as in the outer air.
   Over the doorway before them, in tints unfading, Apollo, thrilled with inner flame, threw eagerly from him the cloud-veil of the morning. In the mosaic under foot were the foaming waves and the quaint, jubilant Triton-figures of the welcoming sea. Around the ceiling ran a merry rout of fawns and nereids--racing, overtaking, disrobing--about a central figure of airy loveliness, neither wholly spirit nor winged goddess, but quickening with the life of free air, blue water, sunshine and the bright dew.
   "Behold the stoical Briton!" said Llywarch, observing his friend's trance of admiration. "It is a relief, you were such a standing reproach to me. But Tigernach will be the death of you."

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   Cian scarcely heard the voice, or the steps of withdrawal. Warmth, soothing odors, and the sound of falling water, came to him through the inner doorway, deepening as he entered.
   One side of this second apartment was as before, only here the tiles bore fruit instead of flowers,--the peach, the orange, the pomegranate, with many besides,--and the columns had the warm tints of a sensuous life in them.
   The fresco of the opposite wall had been given an undulating surface by the broad, hidden tubular tiles which conducted the heated air from the regions below. There the goddess bent, as in the old tale, above the slumbering youth. But the mist waved upward from the lazy stream beside him, the grass billowed in the light wind about her feet, and mortal and deity seemed fluttering together as her lips called him away through vistas of dreamland.
   But everywhere the wall-space and flooring were rich in languor--inviting design,--the softly moving damsels of "the hollow lotos land," with the enchanted fruit they bore; Narcissus propped on elbow beside the fountain; a shoal of water nymphs, who floated face upward among white lilies under the leaf shadows that flecked a silent pool. The ceiling afforded a vision of clear sky, white drifting clouds, and, over all, the calm gods at rest.
   In one corner stood the great bath of fine porce-

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lain, blue almost with the blueness and brightness of amethyst. Creamy figures in relief banqueted at ease along the side, reclining to await the cup. A veiled statue of Slumber stood at the head, pouring drowsily from hand to hand the perfumed water of oblivion, which shattered again as it fell, so that the air was heavy with fragrance. Beside this an ample stream, warmed on its way, flowed into and out of the bath unceasingly.
   He lay there long, seeming to take no harm. Regret and aspiration, all bitterness of spirit, and every anxious murmur, had floated quite away. Fancy moved indolently. The pictured scenes about him grew almost as real as the changeful life he had led. The soul of the lotos-bloom was the soul of all.
   At length an attendant entered in some anxiety that he staid so long, and the dream was broken. Cian arose with languor, and passed into a third chamber, which lay snow-white and roofless. Marble figures peopled it, of stately mien, ranged about an ample sheet of water that stirred invitingly. Cool airs kept fanning over the surface, awakening early memories of forest and riverside. The plunge seemed very tempting, and it was taken quickly. He rose to the light and air, with life and vigor returning.

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CHAPTER VI.

THE HOME OF AURELIA.

Usual it is for maids to be lovely.
--TALIESSIN.

OSBURN had found Constantine enthroned in the basilica among his adherents, not very certain of anything outside, but comforting himself with their number and spirit, the insignia of royalty about him, and above all the augury of his own countenance. This trick of outline had much to do with his aspirations. The man who duplicated the world-conqueror stood pledged from birth to mighty deeds. How could fate fail him? He brightened as Osburn entered, but rather with relief than heroism.
   There was welcome also in the faces below, though some had looked ill-pleased over the sudden and great uplifting of this mercenary. He knew it well, and knew them also, not wholly with disapproval. For those were days when every trafficker must be something of a fighting man as well; and the mailed London merchants, with their sons and nephews and followers, made a martial array indeed. There was a sprinkling of foreign features; for the commercial

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houses of Gaul had yet some agents there of their own people, and many adventurers from abroad had taken service. Plainly this was the side of civilization, or what remained of it, militant by necessity.
   Osburn was soon aware of some natural disquiet among the Celtic part of the men-at-arms whenever the truculent uproar of their kin outside grew louder than usual. He took his measures promptly, being the one man of either side who knew just what to do and what he dealt with. All the forum space was cleared by trusty legionaries, and securely guarded thereafter. Another gate of the city-wall gave in its adhesion when his men appeared there. The merchants' quarter, already held for Constantine, was more strongly occupied. The governor of the White Tower had been temporizing, but Osburn ended that by a sudden movement in force; and the partisans of Arthur and Constantine in that garrison threw all open to him directly. Before morning, through management and active skirmishing, three-fifths of the city were in Roman hands.
   But the remainder was held in disorderly fashion by fierce men, growing more and more reckless, as they felt the tide running with greater force against them. Few had anything to lose beyond what pillage might repay. Very many were of the woods, half savage, and caring nothing for the city. Out of their exasperation arose the threat of fire; a shrill

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cry borne to Constantine in many echoes, making him his enemies' ally. For he had much at stake, and his partisans had more,--had their all.
   Osburn would have met the issue sternly, but Osburn was disquieting him already. Action was too instant; things went well too quickly; he had felt that it could not last. Now and here he would make a stand. So he interfered suddenly, shutting his ears to all dissuasion, and closed a truce with Vortimer.
   Each was to hold his ground, and a new and greater council was to settle or unsettle everything on the evening of that day.
   When this had been told by Llywarch in outline, Cian shook his head. "Who would hold a throne by mercy of the torch?" he said. "The head which bows will never keep that crown."
   Cian was breakfasting in his room after the bath, with his friend for company.
   "The daughter said nothing when it was told us. But--you should have seen her."
    "That may yet be done, and ought to be. She will think me a sluggard or a sorely crippled man."
   "Also, it may be well to see where you are; for night shows little."
   The house lay four-square over a great area, and was built casemate-fashion, one story in height and depth. A great court, which had been turned into a

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garden, filled the interior. Two lesser wings jutted out from the rear corners. One of these, by the purity of its art, may have been the original home or house-kernel, but was now overflowing with looms and fabrics, in proof that manufacture, no less than more gracious employments, went on in the villa. The other was evidently a granary; though it had been in its day a temple of Minerva, and afterward a Christian chapel, as inscriptions went to show.
   The front portico, long and lofty, was very beautiful in an ornate, florid way. Care had been taken to preserve it; with the utmost need, for there was no surviving power to repeat such work, as the sorry patching of the mosaic floor demonstrated all too plainly. The outer wall, enclosing the lawn and shrubbery, was recent also, the stones being uncemented.
   There was a stir of population. From the rear came an intermittent jangling, where the repairs of Cian's chariot were going on. Also there was much ado about harvesting, as wains, laden or empty, came and went between the granary wing and the fields.
   Entering the garden-court, they found quietness. Hedgerow walls and masses of shrubbery, with purple grape arbors and beds of autumnal flowers between them, broke it up very pleasantly. Every vista ended in rows of ornamented columns, white or veined or tinted, along some one of the inner house

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fronts, with graceful statuary niched therein, or standing where the alleys crossed.
   There were fountains, too, fed by conduits from a hillside rivulet--a very great one in the centre, which made the chief sound of the place.
   Beyond this, a little within a ring of evergreen, the only monster lay--a white sphynx with unusual attributes--of doubtful meaning. Below its impassive countenance a living human face looked upward, all else being hidden by the creature's bulk. The brow was broad; the outlines were manly, kind, and noble, but with intense foreseeing horror in every line. A tender and shapely feminine hand, belonging to the left forearm of that stony, crushing thing, was thrown over against the victim's cheek in a negligent caress.
   Just now a little child, Sylvia, who had seen it every day, was idly smoothing the dust from those lady-like fingers, and leaning her bright locks where the heart of the terror should be. Perhaps it had given a turn to her questioning; for her sister made answer with one of the subtly and wildly poetic myth-tales of the British race.
   Aurelia was seated in a slanting wicker chair, half under the cedar shadows. A rolled manuscript, lately fallen from her hand, showed that she had been reading. Both arms were uncovered, as also her sandalled feet, but for the light straps across them, and

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the brown tresses of her hair, in ample undulations. Her scarlet robe, a color held peculiarly noble, was fastened above both shoulders by golden fibulæ, ornamented with blue enamel, the especial pride of Celtic art; for she had the life and love of her own people in her, whatever the fancied claims of Rome. A larger brooch below her neck displayed a Cupid on a dolphin, sporting over the same blue background for their sea.
   Her large gray eyes were at rest. She spoke leisurely, as relating what was well known. Her voice was raised a little to be heard above the falling water, wherewith it chimed very well. Cian had found her marvellous in the cloud and the twilight, in the stress of action and peril; but she belonged with even more enchantment to this perfect splendor and peace. He heard Llywarch whisper, "A royal girl indeed! And such kind eyes!" Then they both awaited, unseen, the end of her story.
   She continued: "So by reason of this great fault and failure, Cunebelline could not pass into the upper world, but was held here on earth. And the dark goddess of the star-eyes felt pain at heart. In her very great love of him, she came where he was, often, at the ending of the day. But he only felt the night wind breathing, and heard, when she spoke, the faint murmur of the water; for she was of another and subtler kindred than his, from far away. He was,

Aurelia in the Garden

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indeed, doubtfully aware of a presence unseen; but this grew on him as a fear, and she could not be with him any more, unless in sorrow.
   "Then she besought that she might come before him in such form as he could see and touch without dread, and by choice a beautiful woman; yet, if not that, at least a woman still, however wrinkled and unlovely. But even this might not be granted, except as a goddess, for love of a man, should become far less than he! That was hard measure, and for a long time beyond her; but the yearning grew until the life of the upper world was more a life of torment than any life below.
   "One daybreak a strange and lovely thing was found, night-black and lustrous, with silken mane, coat of satin, wistful velvet eyes,--a creature incomparable for power and beauty. And he said, 'Surely some benignity of heaven has sent me this marvel;' for no one could deem her altogether earthly. Therefore he took exceedingly great care of her, saying, 'Henceforward I will have no other steed to bear me in peace or war.'
   "Then came to him great continual gain in dominion and glory. For she whispered wise counsel to him when none were by, which brightened the land, keeping men kind and genial. When he would ride afield, no bird could bear him more swiftly. And the rush of them in battle was like the rush of the

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lightning. There was panting and fleeing before their aspect more than from the coming thrust or blow.
   "Many kings took him willingly for their emperor; his ships went afar, bringing wealth to him from the ends of the world; he was known openly for the equal friend of Rome; and every one in every land had heard of Cunebelline the golden.
   "All this he owed to her; for he was but a man, and no very surpassing man, left alone. Moreover, when the end of his life drew near, she did not leave him to die, like all others of our race, but bore him bodily away among the stars."
   "Oh, did she?" inquired Sylvia doubtfully.
   Aurelia laughed with an awakening air, having grown dreamful in the peace of that nook, with the lulling of the fountain-fall and her own voice, weaving again the fairy web of enchantment.
   "Why, so runs the story," she answered; "and I have thought it a pretty one. Don't you?"
   Sylvia looked thoughtful. "Yes," she replied hesitatingly. Then she shook her head. "I think the goddess was a fool," said she.
   "Hush, dear!" protested Aurelia, though not greatly horrified. "Newer gods have come and gone, and yet newer ones are here; but let us not be disrespectful to the oldest of the old."
   "If she were a very pretty horse," conceded Syl-

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via. "But then," with a sudden freak of judicial wisdom, "suppose she had turned out a donkey! How did she know?"
   Aurelia laughed again. "Oh, don't ask me to help the immortals out of that," answered she. "You may find yourself playing the donkey some day, Sylvia."
   But a footstep had drawn her attention, and she was rising in pleasure, with a greeting. "I feared we could not see you to-day, she said."
    "Oh," answered Llywarch for his friend, "it is of no manner of use to poke spears into this gnarled old campaigner. . Nothing does him any good at all."
    "One thing at least--the legend of the starry goddess," declared Cian, bowing.
    "Is this magic, or simple eavesdropping?" inquired she. "Now, my father would never listen to that tale, nor to anything against the faith of his first great namesake. As for me, I have a feeling for that excellent legionary from Mesopotamia who built over yonder a temple to 'the gods of all nations."'
   Cian made answer dryly, "I see a Christianity with an old British tap-root and a vast hospitality." But she understood his approval.
   Sylvia changed the topic by walking up with deliberation, and laying her hand experimentally on his silver mistletoe spray. Then she looked up into his

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face, considering gravely. "I am not a bit afraid of you," she observed, "if it is magic."
   He laughed with the others. "Thank you, my dear child," he answered simply.
    "Afraid--after he saved us from the wolves," exclaimed Aurelia.
    "I said I wasn't afraid of him," protested Sylvia, frowning defensively, yet half in mind to cry. Then, taking refuge in him, "Where did you get this pretty thing?" she inquired confidentially.
   "In a solemn place, very strangely lighted," he replied. "I would scarcely know how to tell any one much more, little Sylvia. But it was after combat with something invisible, whether man or ghost or demon, I do not know."
   "Oh, I know, I know!" cried Sylvia. "It must have been a goblin. Why, this is a nice story, like Aurelia's. Is it true?"
   "Pretty well for Sylvia!" laughed Llywarch. "But I am afraid you have ended it all at once, my dear." For Cian was looking absurd.
   "When did this happen?" inquired Aurelia, controlling her amusement.
   "Not very long after the return of the Druids to Mona, in the time of Ambrosius. I was hardly more than a lad. But for this," and Cian touched the golden garment, "I, too, should hold it a dream. After all, the past is dreamland."

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    "What was it like?" inquired Llywarch, though he had heard before.
    "A room below ground, all mirrors and smoothness; a great form lying in state, and multiplied in them all around; a huge lamp on shining ebony, dazzling by reflection from every side; a sword flashing at me like a thousand, so that one could not tell the real blade from the phantasms; a sudden darkness, a form that wrestled with me therein, and fell with no sound; a deep prophetic voice going after me, as I fled with my prize up the narrow way,--and that is all."
   Here Tigernach appeared among them, announcing rather sourly, "The king is coming, in the Roman fashion." He added more suavely to Aurelia, "It is indeed a fine display."
   Yet hardly Roman so truly as a Rome-imitating medley. The purple robe of Constantine was excessive in amplitude and depth of dye. A great tuft of scarlet feathers went before him, borne aloft. A flaming banner came after him, with a gilded eagle above it. Three hundred horsemen in gay armor rode behind, the sunshine glorifying their bronze, their jewelled weapons, their ruddy, blowing scarfs, tasselled with acorns of gold. More than a score of them had wound about their necks the golden chain of leadership.
   At the bridge there was a blare of music from the head of the cavalcade, answered by the population and

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the garrison of the villa with varied outcry. A faint echo came from the distant concourse about the Ermine gate. Three by three the armored horsemen rode over and on to what was now a royal palace indeed.
   Constantine greeted his guests with majesty, tempered by the deference due to those who came from a greater even than he. It suited him presently to put magnificence away, and walk simply with them and his daughter. But none who met them were allowed to forget that it was a monarch with whom they spoke face to face.
   Aurelia may have felt this unpleasantly, for there was sobriety in her enjoyment. Otherwise, her demeanor did not vary, no one finding more or less than usual of her cordial frankness and queenly charm.
   At the first turning, Sylvia came running to meet them, her little soul full of the wolves and their teeth; also, the fright they had put her in, the valor of Aurelia, the crashing among them of Cian and his chariot. "Oh, how they did scamper!" she cried.
   It was a bit of news that she had been saving up for him, after her custom, and telling to herself over and over again, with foreknowledge of its absorbing interest. What had come since was to rule her fancy later. That drama of emotion had the foreground.
   Constantine picked up the little thing, and clasped

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and kissed her, looking vastly more genuine than when playing at Julius Cæsar.
   "You won't let the wolves get me, will you?" besought she, for the mere pleasure of reassurance, being very secure in mind just then.
   "No, no!" he replied. "Not wolves of any sort. Oh, we have wolves in London too, and some of them put their teeth into your champion last night. But the Saxon wolves are worst of all--those who have driven the poor people of the Stour to our shelter. Princess, there are infants lying cold in the fields where Saxon spears have tossed them. There are homes black as coal and white with ashes. There are altars toppled down where men were used to worship. There are wives, not a few, borne wofully away--lifelong thralls to the men who have slain their husbands. But you should hear Oisin, and doubtless will. We always do hear Oisin. And who can wonder?"
   Yet there was an accent of weariness.
   Aurelia explained to her guests, "They begin to call him St. Oisin now, a very zealous man. He was priest of a parish below Caer Collin. Eschwine, the East Saxon, came--his own escape was a miracle. They say that many of his people were tortured in his sight."
    "In the days of Rome such things could not be," observed Constantine.

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    "You will find the strength and safety of Rome in our great emperor," said Llywarch, with conviction.
    "Of Britain also," added Cian.
    "God grant it!" was Constantine's reply. "But--he will want levies and supplies, and they are not in favor with our people. Many put their trust in Vran--you know the story. The head of that wonder--worker, buried in the White Hill, facing seaward, protecting London forever. Why send men to fight in distant quarrels, they say. I but repeat the talk of the town. For my own part, the Saxons have robbed me every way, in ship and caravan, and I am always very willing to have at them."
   Still there was a bargain in his eye, and the child had been set down. "A chapman in soul!" thought Cian resentfully.
   "It would be insufferable," declared Aurelia, "to wrap ourselves in a magic cloak of safety, and leave all others to their fate."
   She spoke with deprecation, if not shame.
   "Yes," replied her father; "and nothing is too bad for the Saxons. Why, it was but last year that King Aesc of West Kent, after I had duly bought the monopoly of the wool-trade from him, let three ships of my neighbor go by full laden, so that the price fell to very little. When I complained, he burnished up some old charge against me, and held my

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next convoy for double tribute. Oh, the Saxon is the ruin of the British exporter!"
   "We ought not to submit to any tribute," said Aurelia, darkening.
   "The Thames should be as free as the Severn," added Cian.
   "True," admitted Constantine; "but we count ourselves fortunate when it is half-way open on any terms. Perhaps the emperor may help, and the council. But I fear you will see a bear-baiting, as usual--with Constantine as the bear," he added ruefully. And now they are coming for us."

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CHAPTER VII.

FEAST AND SONG.

Many a mead hall
Fragrant with human joys.
--THE RUIN, Codex Exoniensis.

CHAPTER VIII.

LONDON AND LONDON'S COUNCIL.

I saw Arthur
Emperor and conductor of the toil.
--LLYWARCH.

CONSTANTINE returned cityward with a greater display, wherein Cian had some part, against his will. His chariot was bright and strong again, being prized highly as a proof of unusual resource and imperial favor. After all, it was the easiest way of going, with a gaudy young charioteer to drive. Moreover, Aurelia rode near him, resplendent, watchful. Admiring murmurs from those around showed that the gorgeousness insisted on by her father met their taste, if not wholly her own. And, indeed, her beauty was of a kind to bear much brilliancy of apparelling. Her chief concern was for her wounded guest.
   The basilica, as the Roman faction called it, was a large domed building of brick and marble, the former predominating in the walls, where the white courses were narrow and far between. Inside, the rule was reversed, the very numerous fluted pillars of the

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main hall being Parian, or as pure. These were in two stories, the gallery resting on the taller series, and bearing the lesser at its front. All were decorated in the extreme. If such art were not the highest, it at any rate made the place bewilderingly beautiful.
   There was yet time to explore some part of London before the meeting of the council; so Llywarch and Cian set out on a hasty round. The chariot was discarded by reason of the general narrowness of the streets. Often they had to ride singly, even in the saddle. In the better parts northward, good houses, often of brick, less often of marble, stood, each by itself, in ample grounds; but elsewhere there was chiefly a tangle of alleys and painted or unpainted woodwork. Sometimes a mansion would be found in a pack of shops like booths, attained by hardly passable ways.
   Along the river-front the sailor life and artisan life of foreign lands had made some impress, there being even one little colony of Saxons on doubtful tolerance. They were mainly of Kent, and recognized as more human than the lately come barbarians of Eschwine.
   There was no real risk; indeed, something of courtesy, by Vortimer's command, everywhere awaited them. He had no wish to break prematurely with Arthur the Emperor.

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Cian was growing weary, when Dynan came flitting after them to bring them back. He was full of excitement and significance, talking rapidly of the strangers in the city, their number and importance, the entanglement of intrigues, the possible surprises. Llywarch replied easily that it must all be very bad indeed if it could in any way surpass the complexity of that ill-scented labyrinth.
   But Cian went in silence, with a sense of doom. O, London, London! a chaos of disorder, crudeness, and rottenness; of relics half given over, and new, random passions and expedients warring on every hand! What but worse confusion and destruction could possibly come of it all?
   The council-hall was full now; eyes were turned every way with uneasy expectancy. At once they were recognized; and a lane was formed for their passage to the raised platform or dais, on which Constantine occupied a kind of throne. At their entrance his face lighted, as though the accession were a boon indeed. But instantly it grew high and stern again, the face of the Rubicon and Pompey's overthrow!
   "How little a thing would unsettle him," thought Cian, taking the seat appointed, near Aurelia.
   But on either side of the king-elect, Osburn and Tigernach had taken their stand, the one rough-bearded and resolute, the other intent with repressed

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fierceness, as any one might see. Presently Caowl also was called to this post of honor, where his Hun-like visage, if not a decoration, had very evident value among the mass of Celtic people. It needed all the towering scorn of Vortimer lo hold them. They looked one at another, and said that he would speak by and by, and they should know.
   Who, indeed, of them all, Celt or Roman, had such eloquence of lip and swaying hand, such goodliness and mightiness of limb, such smooth, high-tinted, handsome breadth of countenance as Vortimer the Londoner. He stood in the glare of lamp-light, where a little space had been made for him near the right corner of the dais, his head rising above every other with a profusion of clustering hair turning to waves and ringlets of fine-spun gold. It was the head of a Grecian demi-god.
   "Wonderful--here, and with that name!" exclaimed Cian to the son of the Three Shouts, who leaned over him, expounding men and their histories.
   But a glance below answered him. Notwithstanding a prevailing likeness, there were hints to be found in face and form of nearly every conquest-wave or importation of soldiery which had ever diversified the island blood.
   "Not more than--some of the rest of us," answered Dynan. "Look at Caowl. I credit him to some pretty recruit of Scythia who sought the woods

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a century ago. As to Vortimer, the facts are known. His mother was a slave to the Saxon, or wife unwilling, carried away from her father's corpse, on that night of "fire-waves and flashes" and "the blackness of hell," by one of the Merscwara serving under Elle. Her people had been noble, her slain father a ruler of towns and men. Her grace and delicate loveliness, well taught in every way, are said to have been surpassing. For all that, she had no choice but to dwell in the marsh-border with robber-folk and fisher-folk, just settling down to a rude husbandry, and do the bidding of her captor in the rough work to which Saxon women were used. There she bore him this manchild, with girls who died--and that no doubt was best.
   "But she never found home among them; and always, when occasion served, there came piteous messages from her to London and to the woodland people and to the fortress towns yet held for us, imploring rescue or ransom. But she was beyond help in arms, and the chief who owned her laughed at every offer while her beauty lasted. When that was gone he made his best bargain, Saxon-wise, throwing in the boy rather than lose the sale, and because there was no love between them.
   "So she got into friendly hands again, choosing the Andred shadow, as best suiting her; for in few years she had grown bitter and crone-like, She gave

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the boy a new name, taking that of him who first made head against the invaders, that her son might not bear himself less hardily, nor give them any peace. And, indeed, he has done them great injury in raids and thicket fighting, for, however it may be elsewhere, there is not often anything but war along the southern border of the great wood. It is a life to breed turbulence; and he brings his turbulence here, along with those great thews that his father left him, and a tongue that is very persuasive and inciting among men of our race."
   His attention was wandering to a group of tall men by one of the doors, whom all about them regarded hatefully. Their weapons and costume showed them to be Saxons. One stood in their midst, as if designedly covered by the others, although maintaining a defiant calmness.
   "The Sword of Fire," murmured Dynan.
   "Eschwine? Ah!" said Llywarch, "a bad place for him! Hence this quietness. When the wolf is in dread of being butted to death, he holds his peace, and maintains his dignity."
   "Eschwine never yet kept peace in any sense. He will speak; be sure. No doubt he has some ledge of safety."
   "And who are these?"
   Another party, wholly mail-clad, were just entering from the opposite side. They passed at once into

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shadow. One of them wore steel, from crown to toe. It was bright as any mirror. This alone marked him out from all present.
   "If you know not, how should I?" inquired Dynan significantly. Cian nodded.
   "But yonder?" said he, quickly casting his eyes toward the gallery, where a hungry intensity of expression, bitter yet exalted, came to a focus.
   "They are Oisin's Christians, village people mostly. Yet some are Londoners, and they grow in number. Oisin is the man to make them grow. It's a frightful thing to be a preacher, anyway. Think of having to pour heaven and hell white-hot into men, and work holy magic over them--for without miracle, what sanctity? And to have all his labor swept away in an hour by jeering demons! No wonder he chants to wild music!"
   "That seems the sort of thing to expect of everybody," said Llywarch."Denunciation is the one strong point of your Londoner. Do you happen to see anybody, Dynan, who is not eager to denounce?"
   The assembly grew impatient. Constantine had delayed, and delayed again, the inevitable moment of collision. There were derisive calls for "his majesty, the purveyor."
   "Now, now!" urged Osburn. Constantine arose, incontestably royal in bearing, as though he had

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chosen his time, and all things were working together excellently. Briefly referring to the choice before them, and the two envoys now in their presence, he called on them first of all to hear the message of "the conqueror of conquerors, the ruin of the Saxon, the salvation of Britain, the immortal and imperial Arthur."
   At that there was acclaim from all quarters, even the Saxons joining recklessly. Only the man in steel and a few of Oisin's people kept silence.
   "Prince Llywarch of Argoed is the bearer, of whom you know," said Constantine, presenting him.
   Vortimer responded for his faction, "We do indeed know of the Prince of Argoed. May his message prove as welcome as his song ever will be."
   "If aught have a sound of severity," pursued Constantine, "let us remember that our turmoils and standing alone have not been blameless."
   There were murmurs of displeasure.
   "At least," he urged, "you will hearken to the great emperor's words, not mine." But he could not keep the deprecating tone from his voice.
   Llywarch looked over the concourse of his countrymen with a friendly gaze; calmly smiling. None could fancy any unkindness in his face, nor any weakening, by excuse, of what he was given to convey. His voice reached every corner of the hall. He read:--

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   "To the present rulers of London.
   "Arthur Mabuter, Emperor of the armies of Britain, sends greeting.
   "That I know not your true title is enough to show the confusion of your unhappy city, wasting her strength in senseless broils, while Britain suffers. Nor do these matters improve; but even grow worse, insomuch that ye can no longer keep your own borders.
   "Now, we have sure knowledge that the Saxons of Deira and many more are gathering about Caer Ebrauc and beyond the northern woods, undoubtedly in such numbers as will task the whole strength of the land to meet them. If this suffice not, every city, even the most distant, the most secure, will be endangered.
   "Therefore I, who have heretofore entreated and adjured, do command that you send forthwith a good force of men under capable captains to the camp of our army.
   "To assure this, if the succession be still unsettled in your city, I commend to you the house of Constantine, kindred of Ambrosius, well knowing that there can be none with greater natural claim to your devotion."
   Uproar was seething before he had ended. The little kingdom had so long ordered, or disordered, its own affairs, that intervention seemed revolutionary, even to those who favored it.
   "Constantine!" shouted Vortimer, swollen with derision, his arm brandishing as the words crowded. "And is there none nobler for the Briton to follow, for the Briton of Britons to name? Constantine, the valorous purchaser, the hero of the provision trains, the doubtful branch, half disowned and wholly

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unworthy, of a foreign tree! Is it Arthur of Celliwig who bids us bow down before this shaking, mimic Cæsar? Verily, the curse of the world-curser is dangling about us still."
   Constantine held a stern front, but shifted uneasily. Aurelia frowned and reddened. More than one of their party was on the point of interrupting. Cian rose first, though painfully, with the silver misletoe full in view, a guaranty to many below. His face, dark and spiritually exalted, was as true to the Celtic race tradition as Vortimer's belied it. His voice went clearly abroad with lingering emphasis,--
   "I also am a Briton."
   Whereat, as more than self-evident, both Tigernach and Caowl, with more, began to laugh mightily.
   "Assuredly," began Vortimer. But Cian went on,--
   "I have waded with our Emperor waist-deep in the red water and shifting sands of the Glem. When Arthur darted up the Duglas side through the slaughter of the green embankment, I saw the blades and spear-points fly from him like icicles from a winter-sheeted tree when a strong wind shatters them. Let Vortimer lead the men of London, and prove beside the Emperor Arthur what better may be done by British valor unbreathed on of Rome."
   "I have led them," retorted Vortimer sullenly and defiantly. "In skirmishes,"and "With our aid," in-

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terjected Caowl and Tigernach. "So will I lead them again," he continued, unheeding. "Think not, Prince Cian, there is no fighting but in the far northwestern hills and northeastern marshes. There Arthur's victories have been. But who fights for us,--a mere wedge of Britondom left pushing out into the mass of the enemy--the South Saxons, the East Saxons, the men of the populous Caint? Who but ourselves, left lonely? We grapple with them in the fastnesses of the Andred wood, the vales below Caer Collin, the open land between the Thames and the Cray. Wonder not that we must lose a little, when we have held so much so long and so well. Ask not of us to drain away our life-blood, with the Saxon almost at our walls. And since Arthur of Celliwig has done so little to shield or aid us, why should he have more at our hands than we of him?"
   "No, surely," called out Dynan, "since that would be transcending salvation. Little good would your bush-wrangling have done, had those `northeastern' and `northwestern' battles gone the wrong way."
   Vortimer waved his hand impatiently. "I hold no discussion with triflers, nor with little emissaries of the usurper. Be sure our goodly city will never need aid nor fear enemy while the head of Vran watches from the White Hill of Cynvelyn."
   "Woe betide us! Woe betide us!" cried a shrill voice from the gallery, and looking up, they saw the

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craning, narrow, bird-like visage of Oisin the Christian preacher bent upon them. The power of his eagerness bowed him forward like a strong wind, until he seemed likely to lose his balance and pillar-hold together. His brow was ridged between the eyes as if by unremitting pain. Those eyes burned. The frivolous decorations beside them, cupids and vine-sprays and bacchanals, deepened that burning by contrast. He gathered himself a little, as attention centred on him, then burst forth in passionate invective: "Woe betide us for that our strongest can but wrangle over the hearth-fire while the slaughterer is in the fold; that our wisest put their trust in the promise of a dead magician, or in a soldier-king seeking his own glory far away! Woe, for that ye tear each other, one and all, like most unworthy hounds, and are given over to believe the lies of the heathen; and open not your ears to the great cry that goes up continually from the places of anguish and desolation, nor know that the one true cause is the cause of God's suffering people, and the one true leader is the everlasting Lord God of Sabaoth!
   "What mean ye lurking here or idling otherwhere, when His dread summoning is abroad? What mean ye, when the death-wails have not yet ceased their shrilling from the pleasant villages of the East,--those death-wails which are but the precursors of your own! Ah, that Arthur could but see as I have seen,

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and loathe his glory! Far away at the north, far away!--yet how near is the murderer in the home-stead, Eschwine, the Sword of Fire, where hamlets roll up their sad witness unto heaven!
   "I tell you, men of London, there was a village once. You knew it well, and I knew it to my appalling sorrow. Peace abode there, and comfort and virtue, a little nest of all kindly good that we had made, although so near the heart of all evil that is under the sun. But there came to us a day of rumors, and the going forth to fight, and the quick warnings of those who fled by, all broken, and the growth of clamorous voices, and the crowding, crowding of terror.
   "The tale--have ye forgotten it? Yet dare not I again abide the telling. Go search the fields for the split skulls of our old men, whitening like dog-bones where they fell under the swords of merry making pursuers. And this were mildness, were mercy! Oh, the damnable sea-people, the wolfish and impious Saxons, abominable heathen, God-hating and God-hated, bloody followers of Eschwine, that prince of demons, whom may God speedily overthrow in the fires of hell forever."
   A deep angry hum followed this appeal of frenzy. Eyes were turned murderously on the little party of Saxons, who stared back, though doubtless ill at ease. Their leader pushed the others aside, and stepped out,

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that all might see. He had bony, aquiline features, keen and enterprising, and only less brown than his hair, matching, likewise, his tall, broad-shouldered, very sinewy form; a face hardly capable of indolence or meditation; watchful, unremorseful, daring, dangerous.
   "With many thanks," he announced, "I am that Prince of Demons, coming under safeguard of Constantine, your king."
   "Who is this that palters with the powers of darkness?" demanded Oisin.
   "It was weeks ago," Constantine began, "and for a meeting"--
   "No time was named," the Saxon shouted; "to your word I hold you."
   But at this a great baying began. "Give him the safeguard of Hengist," cried one. "Have you forgotten the feast of the Long Knives?" jeered another. A third, behind Oisin, called aloud, "It is time for the Sword of Fire to be quenched in blood."
   Vortimer, more concerned for his own interest, added his cry, "Behold a Roman cloak thrown over the dripping hands! O men of London, behold the boon and the giver!"
   Constantine wavered visibly. "It was for your good; it was in your behalf," he protested, facing about, as the stress of the uproar shifted. "It was for our dear city and her people, God be my

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witness. Yet if I exceeded--I was surely not king then"--
   But his daughter had half risen, with shamed, imploring eyes that held his own. In the pause, came Eschwine's voice clear and fearless,--
   "Give me that maid, and I will bring you a crew to lash off this yelping pack, and have done with them. Give me her. She is tenfold the man of any of those who scream and gibber about us."
   But the very splendor and excellence of her, standing there, made the demand all the more obviously extravagant. Laughter ran through all the hall, with lessening of Eschwine's danger. "Nothing less than the lady Aurelia?" cried Tigernach. "One would think he would be glad of any chance to save his forfeit life."
   "Forfeit or no," said Aurelia, "he cannot fall here by any hand but that of an enemy to me."
   Her voice, full and musical, was welcomed by a hush that made every word audible.
   "Well said, my Roman princess," cried Eschwine jubilantly. "Between us we will make such a throne as no battering-ram on earth shall topple over."
   Amid the beginning again of wrathful murmurs, Aurelia looked at him steadily. "I can have nought but hatred," she said, "for the doer of deeds of hate, and a good longing to see the smiting down of the merciless."

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   "Amen!" cried Oisin.
   "I like you none the less for plain speaking," averred Eschwine. "But when was it ever heard that war went on without bloodshed, or that the fighting man with the fury on him could tell one red from another. If I have been at fault, you will have the more scope in tutoring me."
   "Too many British women have left their homes against their will," said Aurelia, "for one more, though the lowliest--and such am not I--to go with any Saxon willingly."
   Her face was set and stern. There was no yielding in her voice, but calm scorn and resentment.
   Eschwine answered, self-restrained, but chafing. "As for the girls taken, spoil is spoil. So has it ever been. These noisy people may have ours, if they can get them. No doubt many of our slaves might be bought back again at fair value. Bear in mind, maiden, that we riders of the rough sea ways are not given to abide denial from any, be she high or low."
   His followers had tried to check this impolitic close, and now gathered again before him in his defence; for an angry rush was beginning. Eschwine half drew his sword, and frowned, yielding not at all.
   But Aurelia interposed with a wave of her arm, and the call, "Forbear." Constantine also com-

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manded, "Hold!" with strenuous endeavor to be resolute.
   "Back, every man of you!" shouted Vortimer, not to be outdone. Then, turning toward Aurelia, he added, "There is one member of the house of Constantine whom we are all more than willing to obey." And many shouted at his words.
   "To this I hold you," cried a new voice, with a certain genial roll in it, but more of authority. The man in steel was advancing toward the dais. He bore his armor lightly, as if dancing under it would be easy to him; yet there was dignity in his port also. Though lacking the towering bulk of Vortimer, or even the more than usual height of Cian, his advent was as if real kingliness had but just come among mankind. When he turned his face uncovered to the throng, clean-shaven alone of all that presence, with a complexion of surpassing purity, broad of brow under browner waving hair, a face of romance and frankness, yet of forethought and zeal which might become exaltation, men had no need to be told that the very genius of peace and of war shone on them then out of the strong blue eyes of the great Arthur.
   Those were present who had spoken ill of him but lately; yet there went up from nearly all the same enthusiastic cry, as they knew their visitor. Only Oisin watched silently, and Vortimer with chary

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participation, each having a few imitators near him.
   Arthur was kindly smiling, and his speech was easy.
   "When a man is vexed, and writes over harshly to his friends," he said, "what is there better for him than to come and see them face to face? You had given some cause, you know. Truly, I come in the best of time; for in my own hearing you have announced with acclamation what I would most desire. Most gladly I make your will my own; seeing that of your own free choice, and with uncommon zeal, you have preferred, from the house whereof I wrote, the very maiden gem in her golden setting. Let Aurelia, chosen of Britain as of London, be hence-forward your queen."
   There was a moment's hush; then the hall rang. Aurelia, thoughtful of her father, had half risen to speak in disclaimer; but something in the Emperor's look, between deprecation and command, held her still. She would not harm nor hamper him in any crisis. Moreover, she had perforce taken the measure of her father more clearly that day. It might be very unfilial to keep him in that dangerous seat.
   "Vortimer of Andred," resumed Arthur, "you have well said that London needs both men and weapons to regain her losses and hold her lands. Her turn shall come. Together, if we live, we will seek repri-

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sal, but not now. We have no choice but to meet first, and overthrow, the northern enemy. London must aid me there, and you must lead her men."
   Vortimer looked unwilling, yet hesitated, as he had not before Constantine or Cian. The unique fame of the Emperor, the continued fortune which marked him out as strangely favored, the almost magical element of surprise in his coming, whatever interval or obstacle might lie between, his astuteness, his amplitude of resource, the concentration of purpose that shone out of him,--all these made refusal very difficult.
   Before Vortimer had spoken, Arthur turned to Constantine. "Yours shall be a wider charge than I had thought of," said he. "Our armies are larger now than they were, and more scattered. We need a more general and efficient system for supplying them. Constantine, as of old in a lesser undertaking, can do more for us there than any other."
   There was but little wavering, for the half-crowned was momentarily losing his desire to rule the unruly. "Whoever exalts my daughter exalts myself," he said. "I will go where I may be useful."
   "What for me?" demanded Eschwine mockingly.
   Arthur made calm answer, "You have your life. Let that content you. It is safe, till we meet again."
   "Perhaps I shall keep it a little longer," scoffed the Saxon; "I have carried it in hand over many

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   British men, living and dead. And, queen or no queen, I will have the maid."
   But now his followers urged him, with entreaty, toward the door; while a crowd of their enemies, hardly held in leash, came close behind.
   "Llywarch," said Arthur, "see them beyond the city wall."
   Then he also departed for the villa of Constantine, his abode that night.
   Soon afterward the great council ended, all its members going their ways.

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CHAPTER IX.

THE EMPEROR AND THE QUEEN.

The chair of the sovereign,
He that keeps it is skilful.
---TALIESMIN.

CIAN was glad to be in the open air again, on the way toward rest. Weakened and fevered, he carried thoughts with him which were better away. He had seen Arthur's eyes meeting those of Aurelia's; and already, though he had given no name to his own feeling for her, a breath of fear was astir.
   Thus brooding, a dimness came over him, and he swayed to and fro where he sat. But Tigernach sprang in beside him, and Aurelia rode up.
   "Oh, pardon me!" she cried. "You have over-tasked yourself in our behalf, and we neglect you."
   For indeed she had not felt so drawn to his side, returning, as when they rode in. The knowledge of it hurt her.
   Cian raised his head, and sat quite stiffly. "I have no need," he said.
   Llywarch, who had rejoined them, looked at him and at her. "Surely, Cian, the new cares of the

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throne"--he began. "There is enough in London to overwhelm all else."
   Aurelia felt ill at ease under his words; for in truth it was not the burden of greatness which had so filled her mind, as the vision of the Emperor, flashing among them suddenly in assurance of power.
   "I am not yet queen," she answered gently. "Nor ever will be, I hope, if it is to make me behave unworthily."
   Cian did not reply, being wholly occupied in mere endurance. Aurelia watched him with solicitude.
   "You saw Eschwine well away?" she inquired of Llywarch.
   "Not very far, unhappily. I heard a word at the gate. He is yonder, waiting."
   Where he pointed, the Thames and the Lea out-spread together in an estuary-like morass. There was vapor over it now. The light of a half-moon fell slantwise on reedy, glistening expanses, on gleaming, winding, branching inlets, on tufted black islands of forestry, all mapped out as on the face of another world, withdrawn into the dim life of menace and mystery.
   It chilled Aurelia, and she turned silently away.
   At her home they found her father with the Emperor. Already a general scheme of commissariat had been outlined,--great depots, widely and wisely distributed, with lesser between; interlinking caravan

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routes like the crossing lines of a spider's web, whereby material in masses could at once be supplied anywhere,--a system worthy of an earlier or a later era.
   Constantine was astir with delighted interest as the possibilities grew on him. He was deeply impressed by Arthur also, the soldier-king eager for adventure being hidden in the man of affairs, prompt, full of forethought, quick to learn, shrewd in applying, possessed of every capability.
   There was reason why Arthur should strengthen himself with all. Guledig, imperator, emperor, men called him; but this was, first of all, a battle-title, a kingship over armies and kings in armor; beyond that, more or less, according to opportunity and the strain of public need. Never before, in the case of a great city, had he ventured on interference and command. Chance had aided him, but he knew that even friends would recall his action uneasily.
   The chiefs of Andred, lately in opposition, could not resist his friendliness. He gave them straightforward words, though, evading nothing, not even religious differences, for he made no secret of his championship of the Cross. When the talk was of worldly and common matters, his attention was calmly given to the speaker, or passed from one to another whom he addressed. When he spoke of man's faith and soul and after life, or of Britain's interminable struggle with the destroyer, his eyes often wandered

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away and brightened, coming suddenly back with the fire in them of one whose innermost passion and certainty were astir.
   There was nothing marble-like about that face; rather a quivering susceptibility, noticeable in the nether lip when not resolutely controlled, as though emotions came too fast and strong for him. In his greatest feats recorded of Arthur Mabuter, it was averred that his whole frame trembled like a harpstring. More than one renowned enemy had felt it with elation, yet broken utterly before the fury of purpose which underlay that vibrating fineness of nerve. In spite of error, it raised him above meanness and grossness, giving him a dedicate fervency, as of one running a great race greatly. At his best, he might well be called the soul of Britain.
   After a time he drew away to Aurelia, who was about going within to escape the chill of the autumnal evening. His manner was deferential, with a touch of playfulness.
   "I come to you as a bird of warning," he said; "and I would rather warn out here."
   Following his words, a wolf-howl came lugubriously from some forest nook, with the usual discord-murmur of the hidden city for its echo.
   "With such music?" she replied sadly.
   His face grew very grave. "You see your task," he said. "To keep the wolf from the door of a di-

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vided people. It has been mine also. But we are drawing mightily together now."
   "All but London! Poor, rich, great, distracted London!" said she.
   "London will not fail such a queen," he answered; for the beauty and easy majesty of her face and form were on him like a spell. Oh, the incredible perversity that could turn away from such as she! He grew stern at thought of it, and added, "Those who will be blind may at least see their own ruin."
   She answered gently, "They are my people. Without my destruction, that shall not be."
   His face brightened and deepened. "I could not ask a better word from the best fighting man of my Round Table."
   "No place for me! I am sufficiently exalted by the charge my Emperor has given;" and she made him archly an obeisance.
   "Greater exaltation may"--but he checked himself with remembrance and misgiving.
   She did not seem to give his words especial meaning; but his tone awoke a slight perversity, brushing the sense of distance away.
   "At least," she said, "I may be better employed than in tilting after rainbow treasures and phantom goblets."
   "It is not well to speak lightly of things beyond us," he answered with serious mildness. "Our life,

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which begins in mystery and ends in mystery, is wrapped in mystery between. But this is my warning. I pray you be very careful in your coming and going after I am gone. Forget not that you rule only a point of doubtful light, jutting into a black sea. Remember that London ever wrangles with the hand that serves and saves it. Above all, bear continually in mind that the Sword of Fire is never far away. Yet I hope he may seek to do no harm. He will get word from me by Llywarch, who goes with Dynan and Caowl into the great marsh to-morrow, demanding his pledge of peace, toward you above all, under penalty which he will hardly dare. He will keep it, I believe, since it has ever been Eschwine's pride to make good his word. But be more than careful."
   Aurelia looked at him, thankful and open-eyed. Then there came a saddening thought. "How shall we drive out the hard Saxons with plans which a woman's mishap may overthrow? You must not bring your men from where they are most needed, for me."
   "They will not stir," he answered. "The threat suffices. Trust me."
   "Trust me also," she replied, as she passed within. "I shall be on my guard."
   But that did not long trouble her. She found pleasanter matter of meditation in the Emperor's thoughtfulness.

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CHAPTER X.

A VISIT TO THE SWORD OF FIRE.

Laughing, treacherous,
And of bitter disposition was he.
-- Black Book of Caermarthen.

CHAPTER XI.

THE PERPLEXITY OF ARTHUR AND THE MISSION OF OISIN.

I have repented of the time that I entreated
That thou shouldst not have thy choice.
--LLYWARCH.

THOSE were noisy and busy days around London, preceding the coronation. There was other marshalling, too, for the good will in the air and some touch of policy had brought Vortimer forward with a late display of military zeal; and Arthur, with this aid, and from other elements, began forming a great encampment on the hills. Meantime, counselling with Osburn and Aurelia, he supplied safer men gradually to the gates and strong places which Vortimer had held.
   Cian kept his room, lest, as they quoted him, he should glower, and tear somebody. Although his hurts and later efforts might be reason enough, Arthur felt disquieted, and set himself kindly to heal the inner sore that he feared.
   Cian half rose as the Emperor entered, but Arthur waved him down, saying,--

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   "The wound always has precedence. If some one must suffer for my being here, no doubt Tigernach will stand hard enough for two. Yet I see no need, remembering that such as he have made me."
   "It is beyond mortal power to make one like our Emperor," declared Tigernach, with pleased and hot directness.
   "Why, as to that," began Arthur, laughing. "But it is true I do not owe it all to your people. When before was it ever heard that a man should wave aside the purple to the shoulders of his friend?"
   "He knew the gifts of Caradoc and the gifts of Arthur," said Cian. "The event has proved."
   "How it might have been, we cannot say. It is as it is. I am glad that he is coming to help me. They are at Caer Segeint now, with Maelgwn and the pick of his mountain men, also a very great following."
   "And the Lady Guinevere," suggested Cian, with covert brightening.
   "She also," Arthur answered quietly, and the men understood one another; but Cian conjectured even more than Arthur had in mind.
   "Lancelot takes a long road, in good company," said he.
   That was an ill return, and he felt it so. But the instinct to awaken anxiety for the one whom he did not desire was too strong for him.

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   "It is true," answered Arthur, and spoke of other things.
   When they parted, Cian's eyes were hopeful and thankful, but Arthur bore away more discomfort than should follow a kindly deed. Being only human, whatever the credulous might say, with two women and two men to think of, and no way opening that was free from harm to some one whom he loved, he found himself distressed very sorely. There was that in his heart which told him the wiser choice did not lie with the earlier claim. Yet he had long felt the bright enchantment of Guinevere, and been drawn to her in many ways of late, believing undoubtingly that her sunny love was all for him, though no binding word had been spoken.
   He knew that a halt would be made for the night, in her behalf, about midway in the forty-mile ride which was to be that day undertaken. He promised himself to meet her there in the morning.
   Meantime, chance threw him again with Aurelia.
   The yellow light was fading from the lawn; the brighter stars were just coming into vision. She stood on the lawn hearkening to Oisin, who gesticulated as he spoke. Arthur fancied, resentfully, that the passion of admonition had possessed him. But she turned her face, and he saw that it was not so. "This good man comes to me for aid," she said with grave deference.

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   Arthur looked into her eyes, a little charged with excitement, then at the anxious ones of the evangelist.
   "What aid?" he inquired.
   "It has partly to do with Eschwine," she explained.
   "By way of conversion?" with a smile.
   "No!" broke in Oisin shrilly. Then he recollected himself, hearing their laugh, and added, "If there were any hope--why, surely--even he."
   "We must admit that 'even he' has shown some motions of peace and good will," observed Arthur gently.
   "Trust him not! trust him not!" cried Oisin. "His heart is the home of hell fire. Not seven devils, I say unto you, but seventy times seven!"
   "Then I infer it is not--at present--a mission to the heathen?"
   Arthur's glance questioned both of them with puzzled gravity, although he smiled. Aurelia answered.
   "As a barrier only. Oisin will make his home with the lake-people of the great marsh. He will teach and preach to them, comforting and uplifting them in every way until death. He will take his own homeless villagers also, with such as may join them, to strengthen these hunted creatures. They will settle on firm ground near the river Lea. I have promised, with the Emperor's good will, such land and arms and other aid as may reasonably be needed. Oisin hopes with time to build up an outer and living

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wall for London on that most open side. And the people of the marsh will no longer be crushed into mere brutishness."
   Cried Oisin: "The distortion of their belief is unspeakable, unspeakable! And as to ritual, I doubt indeed if they have any whatever." His claw-like hands went up and down as he spoke.
   "Is not this better than rainbow-chasing?" asked Aurelia, watching the Emperor's eye.
   "Nothing could be braver or grander," answered he. "I will not warn you from slow dying by marsh-poison, Oisin; you have taken counsel of One greater than I. I would ask His blessing of you, for in that name only shall we conquer."
   So Arthur Mabuter had the blessing of Oisin; and Oisin had of him whatever might be any aid and stay.
   The image of Aurelia, royal, yet not beyond archness, haunted Arthur in the early hours of the night. But he slept at length; and when he woke it was with other fancies, which drove him to the saddle a long time before the brightening of the sky.

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CHAPTER XII.

ARTHUR WITH LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE.

I wanted warmth and color.
--TENNYSON.

ALL along the highway between London and that fair city whose ruins underlie the Silchester of later time, villages attested the westward shifting of life and traffic that followed the loss of Kent, Sussex, and the lower Thames. Of these a few were still Roman in part, though the largest had grown up on Celtic lines.
   It did not suit the gay court people to abide in any. They chose rather one of the wild spots which lay between, beloved by wandering folk and by citizens willing to take some risk with their outing. Here were you at once in both worlds; the merchant's caravan and the merry riding-party being proper to the glade, while yet the Saxon scout might prowl around its border in the dusk, or the great bear take complacently the measure of its shadow by the light of the moon.
   But there was clearly no present danger of human enemy nor of wild beast. Long before Arthur

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reached them, he could discern the fire-glow in many places among the trees, where each night-long blaze was dying down to embers. The tents grew from ghostliness into brightness as the morning expanded.
   Except the sentinels, few forms were yet astir. He recognized one discontentedly. Tall, richly attired, perfect in grace, with a cloven-pomegranate beauty of countenance, that was dreamful now, but marked by spoiled wilfulness, dark pride, and fitful intensity, Maelgwn of Gwynedd, whom we know better as Lancelot, stood watching the tent of the incomparable Guinevere. Was it herself that he awaited by appointment, or the mere sight and sound of her, issuing into the new day?
   Arthur felt the stir of such questions as he halted, and therewith the sun and the lady came forth from their hiding together. Guinevere was like the very heart of gladness in those golden rays. There was that about her which, like the sunshine, belonged impersonally to one and all, yet which every man might take unto himself, and deem an especial treasure evermore his own. It came only from her glowing beauty, her love of life and splendor, her ready responsiveness; or, if ever from any deeper fountain, there was yet no such strength of flow but that ambition very easily would turn it and hold it. Still there were few who could believe her otherwise than very loving; as the sun itself appears genial, and we call it

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so, although in truth it cares nothing whatever for human kind. Already her name everywhere meant the enthralling, the irresistible.
   On first passing beyond the tent-flap, she had Maelgwn evidently in her mind, perhaps by reason of preliminary peering, for her smile turned naturally, as by instinct, that way. But in a moment Arthur had that welcome in his stead without change, as he came into her vision; nor could either of these men be sure that it was not thus first intended. Maelgwn received only her passing graciousness and the word-signal, " He comes," abounding in loyal fervor, which proclaimed that it could not doubt his own sympathy.
   There was hot blackness in the face and heart of the Welsh prince for a moment. Yet, Guinevere aside, he was Arthur's very stanch partisan, and so had been ever since his first entry as a stripling on the life of arms. He felt, admiringly, in another nature the aspirations which were beyond his own. Sometimes it befell that an unreasoning passion of remorse and penance took hold on him in their stead; but it never lasted long, and left him open, as before, to very pitiful sinning. These traits grew with years, but even in that earlier time he was far from a continuously happy man.
   His memory held many fond trifles which yet were no trifles at all to his love and pride; though Guin-

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evere, if driven to it, would have denied all semblance of claim growing from them. He was not wrong in holding himself more congenial to her personally than any other man, though he were twice an Emperor; yet no man could be so near her heart as the imperial power and dignities. A dim occasional sense of this awoke in him a helplessness and bewildered raging.
   Yet now he greeted the Emperor with all, deference and welcome, and, apart from his baffled hope in Guinevere, they bespoke him truly.
   "So early!" he cried." It must have taken swift riding or no rest. And all alone! Is that wise, my Emperor?"
   "Wisdom would not be worth much penned in a corner or baby-tended," answered Arthur. "There are enough of them behind. This is a good swift fellow," and he patted his steed. "As to rest, I had all that might be had--while awaiting."
   His eyes, at the last word, were fondly on Guinevere, who would not meet them, but flushed and checked herself uncertainly in answer. Maelgwn made obeisance and went rigidly away.
   Arthur blamed himself momentarily for a tone which fretted him, the tone of one tempted from thorough good-will by a sense of rivalry. But it could not last in that presence.
   Guinevere looked up, as in self compulsion, with

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delight in her eyes. "It is so long," she said, "yet so very kind of our Emperor to meet us thus by the way."
   They walked side by side toward the tent of her uncle Caradoc. Her voice went before, and brought him out to them. On his bluff countenance there was a shade of displeasure as he glanced at the receding form of Maelgwn. A small part of it was for her also. The insight which comes to the dullest by kinship and daily proximity made him unsure of her. Since his great renunciation, there had been seasons of regret, and he looked that his niece should bring the purple back to him, in a way, enhanced by Arthur's glory. It was worse than vexation to think of any coquetry with the Welsh prince. But he could not look deep enough, nor do justice to the cool, unchanging purpose of Guinevere. He would not have loved it, had he known.
   A very giant of a man was this Caradoc Vriechvras, careless in his strength, negligently ungraceful, and showing woodland build rather than royal; a man living more in the body than the mind, proud mainly of prowess, as some burly man-at-arms might be, over willing to dare, impulsively generous to resign.
   He gave Arthur a grasp that was hard to bear.
   "And which Saxon shall we fall on next?" cried he. "I thought it was Ossa Cyllalaur. But I hear

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strange tales of Eschwine's sauciness. I have men enough to break him up, if ordered."
   "He is no dry reed," answered Arthur, with a smile. "When the time comes he will give some trouble. For the present I have his pledge of peace toward the new Queen of London, where the chief danger lies."
   "The new queen; her name is"--Guinevere suggested, as one who seeks about in memory.
   Caradoc was about to supply it, marvelling at her quick forgetfulness, but Arthur spoke before him.
   "Aurelia, daughter of Constantine." He fretted inwardly that he could not make the syllables quite like those of any other. It was the more unreasonable, since the present beauty eclipsed her, to his mind and eye. Guinevere was watching him from covert with oblique demureness.
   "A very musical one," she said sweetly. "But have you only this Eschwine's promise? No hostage? Nothing in pledge?"
   "A man's pride is the best pledge," answered Arthur. "Eschwine's word is his God. He has never failed in it. He stakes his manhood on it."
   Guinevere listened, childlike, as to wisdom in matters beyond her, then answered with maidenly diffidence,--
   "Yet--I was thinking of that Gaulish trader, who came and went so many times between our city and

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the coast, and was always true to the least that he uttered, and would do errands for one beyond the narrow sea, bringing all back faithfully, and showed himself so very honest in little things"--
   Caradoc interrupted her, with an impatient sound. "In brief, I trusted him with a treasure caravan," he said. "The Saxons got it; and he does not trade our way, being rich and wise."
   There was a veiled keenness of satire in Guinevere's mild young eyes, unnoticed by either of the men. "Are not the Saxons wily?" she queried, in the same submissive way. "A woman knows little of such matters; but they tell me so. May not Eschwine have been upbuilding his fame as a promise-keeper, only to throw it away for a great prize? Or may not the temptation overcome him? London is very rich, and I hear that--Aurelia--is--exceedingly fair."
   For she was testing Arthur; not greatly caring for the danger which yet, by inner light, this woman, wilier than the Saxon, well knew.
   Caradoc heard her with dissatisfied opening of the eyes. But he caught the drift of her last words. It seemed to him that there would be a better time to consider matters militant.
   "It is true that women do not distinguish," he said. "Kings are not chapmen. Wider experience will show. But now I must prepare for departure," and

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he moved away with a sense of sagacity. There was a smile on his face as he left to her the trial for that "wider experience."
   Her scrutiny of Arthur was assuring. He showed no great concernment of any kind, answering only, "It is so; a noble woman too, proud, strong, and trustful."
   In that she felt his regret, if not disquiet, for her own suspicious knowingness. That mattered little. She fastened liquid eyes on his, hurt and meekly protesting.
   "But the Queen of London has seen so much more," she said; "and no doubt is far wiser. I did wrong to obtrude my foolishness. But one feels--and one counsels from"--
   "Her kind heart," he responded, with quick self-blame, taking her hand impulsively. "Don't doubt that I feel that, Guinevere."
   Her eyes beamed into his with ineffable admiring devotion. "There is one," she said, "who is too high-souled, too generous, for doubting. May he never suffer for his greatness!"
   In part, that was the true voice of her own spirit that day; in part, mere audacity, affronting and trifling with what, as she had even then some glimmering, was in store for them all.

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CHAPTER XIII.

FOREBODING AND DANGER.

I have become a predicting bard.
--RED BOOK OF HERGEST.

IN that morning's ride Arthur's fancy busied itself more than once in discomfort with the picture of two royally fair women face to face. But when it became real there was nothing to regret. Guinevere beamed and flowed and sparkled in full wisdom of rivalry, and won her reward; for this urgent speaking loveliness had power over him beyond any more reticent though nobler beauty.
   One kind thing he had done in preparing Caradoc to accept as authentic his kinsman of London; and Constantine accordingly was made very happy.
   The coronation passed in all magnificence, a breathless, proud, bewildering time; and the army, now swollen to great proportions, went northward, leaving the young queen and the remnant of her people to face whatever might befall.
   Never in two generations had money flowed so freely nor in such variety of coinage through all the channels of trade,--Roman gold from Augustus to

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Honorius; the experimental island mintage of Allectus, the evanishing usurper, and Tetricus, the tyrant of an hour; older British pieces, ranging from the pure fine art of Cunebelline to mere Brigantine savagery; the fair coins of Massilia and their Gaulish wheel-marked copies. Yet the multitudinous bits of brass which alone had often served their needs before were with them still for lesser uses, being mainly the counterfeits or makeshifts of a hundred different hands.
   But what all these had brought was of necessity consumed or away. In food, apparel, arms, and men, the draft on the little kingdom had been excessive. Londoners looked about them on empty fields and barns, on empty shelves and warehouses, on lean garrisons, and streets with women and children only, and there were stirrings of disquiet. Never had their city been so tempting to a money-hungering enemy; never so ill defended.
   From the beginning Aurelia was alert to prepare and strengthen, with Osburn for her general in command, and Cian for her counsellor and guest. He was yet at the villa, guarded by Tigernach and a few tribesmen. She saw him often there, although, following Arthur's counsel, her main abode was now within the city wall. At times, with returning strength, he joined her in journeys, undertaken hastily hither and thither.

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   At first these were indeed royal progresses, that she might feel amply guarded. But there was much to be done, and the cumbersomeness of such doing was against it. Also the cost and the loss of time and labor, when nothing could be spared, made it seem rather an evil than a good. So she took very soon to plainer ways, which yet seemed safe enough.
   Once, with Cian and Tigernach, she penetrated the Andred-wood to its inmost hill-chaos of wild thicketry, and was greeted tumultuously on an open plateau about old altars by a skin-clad assemblage, more barbarous than any new-come Saxon, but with Vortimer's mother, and many older memories, to keep them vivid in Saxon-hating. She made great friendship there, for they delighted in her courage; and a band of their sturdiest men went back with her, where men were needed. But most often her wanderings were not so far.
   Returning from one of these, a sound of ill omen came to Cian midway between the city wall and the villa, a sound which had not been heard before since the Emperor left them, a wolf-howl out of the forest. At once that first desperate peril of the woman now beloved awoke in memory; and her call for aid seemed verily to shock and thrill him again, as the terrible pack broke around her, a note of far range and compass, appalled, urgently appealing. He had

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this mainly in his thought as he turned to Tigernach, who rode near him.
   "Did you hear?" he queried.
   "Could one fail, having ears? After all, a wolf-cry is no very great thing in the woodlands."
   "But here it has a meaning. The wolf returns," answered one behind them.
   "What then?" demanded Tigernach. "First time or second time, wolf or Saxon or death's-head, the men of the Andred-wood are ready."
   "Well said!" exclaimed Cian. But he had a sense of trouble impending, as though in truth her need were calling to him.
   He hinted this to Tigernach, who kept silence a moment, then answered: "Prince Cian would have been quite well before this, if he had but eschewed the ways of those who loll in hot waters, and sprawl, gorging sumptuously, and are beaten in arms whenever they take the field."
   Cian laughed, saying, "That curse, at least, has not yet reached me." But no doubt his fevered nerves might have their share in so vague a dread.
   That night their converse was of secret and eerie things, the poet-mystic and mystic of the woods meeting on such ground with a fearsome comradery. Were they not face to face with knowledge and peril which went by the multitude unregarded, like ghosts in the day?

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   When all was still except the low wind, Tigernach yet lingered, dozing. For all his disclaimer as they rode, a sense of menace to his leader and the queen hung about him, even at the gate of slumber.
   That leader's voice came again startlingly: "Tigernach!" He looked up with a start. Cian was speaking with deliberate gravity. "Either the dregs of fever-poison are yet in me, or I am haunted. I cannot feel that all is well with Aurelia. I seem to be aware of something like a far cry from her, and a dense cloud--nearing, nearing me."
   "It is fever-dreaming," answered Tigernach decisively. But he rose, and took down his cloak and sword-belt.
   "What are you about?" Cian demanded. "If it be truly no more than dreaming, what need"--
   "There will be sleep-walking or sleep-riding next; and I cannot tell what that might end in. Much better my riding--wide awake." He took a lance from one corner of the room. "Prince Cian, if I bring you word with all speed, will that content you?"
   Cian looked at the devoted obstinacy of his face, and laughed. "I would argue the matter if it would do any good," he said.
   "Nothing does any good to an ill but the remedy. I am the remedy."
   "More exactly, your journey, without sleep, after nothing. But--thank you!"

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   This was given with a hand-clasp and grateful eyes. There was relief in the tone.
   Cian followed his partisan in thought a while. "Now he is crossing the courtyard; now mounted; now over the bridge; along the road with the moon rising behind him now"--until his own consciousness melted in a jumble of fancies. He knew nothing more until Tigernach stood in bright daylight before him.
   Cian studied that face, remembering slowly. "I see that all is well," said he.
   "Assuredly!" growled Tigernach; and he turned away.
   Later he revealed that he had seen the queen, very early astir as was her fashion, but easy in mind, even laughing. She was to ride somewhere, on some errand, perhaps even his way. "Then our royal lady will have an opportunity of explaining in person to Prince Cian that she did not really call him to her at midnight."
   Cian flushed and frowned. But he set the kind deed against the random words, and forebore. He even smiled inwardly, noting that they had a grievance in common. For wherein shall high and subtle prescience avail, if it lead utterly astray? Yet no doubt it was far better that all the prophecies of the world should fail than that harm should befall Aurelia.
   He watched for her through the day; but she did

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not come, nor did any certain tidings, except--late in the afternoon--that she had ridden eastward toward Oisin, who was always needing more and more for his amphibious mission. This made a ripple among them; but it appeared that she had gone well attended, and there could be no great danger by the way.
   They spoke little after sunset, for Cian was weary of himself and of all. He fell asleep quickly, with no soul-warning.
   Again a cry assailed him! This time it was real and insistent: "Wake and come! Wake and come!" A glare of lamplight filled his eyes. Moreover, a hand was shaking him. Then Tigernach broke his bewilderment with a great shout, rough and wrathful; and Cian all at once began tumbling into his apparel and armor, thrust at him faster than he could seize them. A few moments more, and they were mounted and speeding away.

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CHAPTER XIV.

THE CONFLICT AT THE LAKE VILLAGE.

True it is deliverance will come
By the wished for man.
-- Red Book of Hergest.

TIGERNACH was the fevered one now. "Faster!" cried he to the horsemen hurrying behind them. "Faster! There's not one second to lose. Ride to death; ride to death if need be!"
   Cian put forth his hand to bring his follower within bounds. "Tell me," said he; and in fragments Tigernach told him, with some aid from one of Llywarch's two marshmen, who had brought the news, and was their guide.
   Eschwine had indeed broken faith, coming secretly against the lake village, in the hope of seizing Aurelia. His force was a great one, according to the measure of marsh-fighting. Oisin, in perfect good faith and zeal, had tempted her to remain over long. There was barely time to send this messenger to the villa, and one other toward London, before they were wrapped all around with enemies. Neither had failed; for while they spoke sounds of contention

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came to them, as though Osburn, with his mercenaries and citizens, was vigorously attempting the guarded lower ford of the Lea. Their own route lay otherwhere; a détour reaching the northern border of the great marsh at a point where a path went inward--barely practicable and known to few.
   It was not until they had crossed the lesser waters of that river that the uproar around Oisin and the queen became audible. At the same time, under thick hanging clouds, a beacon-flare of red and yellow light, waving with the wind, made a silent, powerful appeal for aid. All around it were lesser lights, doubled by reflection in water, and broken by intervening boughs. The marshman, pointing to these, laid his hand on Cian's knee. While he pointed, these divided and multiplied, as though fire were being borrowed from fire. All at once a flight as of shooting-stars went centring in from them toward the roofs under the beacon light.
   Their guide gave a grunt of answered expectation, with no pleasure in it. All behind cried out once, but ceased as suddenly. In that breath came to them the fierce yell that went with the fire-arrows, and the high-keyed, harsh defiance of the villagers answering.
   Flight followed flight, with the same company of noises. There was waving of flambeaux, also, about the palisades, and a huddle of dark forms, actively

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moving, below them, with every discord of onset. Here and there a fresh outburst of flame within, as some bit of woodwork caught fire, showed the defenders with equal plainness. The outlines of the houses, too, were thrown out with fitful vividness; and their walls and slanting thatch danced back and forth between illumination and shadow.
   Cian lost nothing of this, but saw as he hurried on, with only a moment's halting. His teeth and eyes were set, his breath came laboringly. Prayers and curses were in his heart together.
   Suddenly there were no more meteors. The torches, being inverted, flared higher, and then were dark. Shadows went hurrying back across the half-lighted lake. A loud call of taunting and gladness followed them. One crisis of the little city of refuge had come and passed in Cian's distant vision; and, behold, it was living yet. But dwellings were ablaze already, so there was no more need for the beacon.
   Their course was yet wide of that shining mark. Impatience assailed Cian; doubts began to hover; the night air, now clammy with marsh dampness, chilled him thoroughly; but he clenched his countenance, and kept on unquestioning.
   The footing grew soft under a thin shell of frozen mire. At every step they sank deeper.
   "Where is that secret way you promised us?" Tigernach demanded sharply.

"They Went in Ribbon-like Order."

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   "Here, turn!" was the marshman's answer, hoarse and savage as though from hostile lips. His gesture directed them toward that lessening riot of flame and the ruddy smoke-masses which overhung it.
   They still went heavily, yet at first not increasingly so; having for path a narrow ribbon of moist but solid land, which dangled a good way out from the higher country into that bleak morass. They kept a thread-like and winding order, following the guide with good heed; their best light was the mere intermittent glimmer of a thin paring of moon from behind the now broken and marching clouds.
   At last they had to leave their horses under guard at a little eyot of firm sod where some bushes grew, and pushed on afoot from tuft to tuft very precariously, now leaping, now dragging one another out of some oily hole where a man unaided would have sunk forever.
   It was all a desperate task to Cian, the imperfectly convalescent; but he called wit to aid nerve and sinew, measuring the steps, and marking the footholds of the sure-stepping native next before him, and leaving rescue-work to those who were in better case for it. All strength which he could husband would be needed elsewhere, soon and right urgently.
   The lights, fading down, appeared ever farther and farther ahead, until their seeming withdrawal grew disheartening. Then revelation came very start-

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lingly. Once more the earth and air were alive with confusion of sound, with volumes of reddening cloud and dragons of fire--all just before them, with only a thin hedge of forestry between. They hurried on, and paused, as yet unseen amid the lake-encircling trees, with the glare of fire and water in their faces. Their nearest enemies were not a spear's throw away.
   Eager-eyed the tall Saxon bowmen stood, sending arrow after arrow in long flight with fiery mane into and over the palisade, or bending to light at the fagot-pyres the tow, tar-painted, until impatience drove them, one after another, out through the ice-crusted shallows to a more immediate share in the assault.
   The lake on that side was no real obstacle to these fighting watermen, except as they could not get footing for their strokes and labor at the last. Already in and on the deep water, next the palisade, there was a broad entanglement of boats and rafts and logs and swimming men. Some of the latter were chopping steps in the tall piles before them, others were swarming up with desperate energy at points that looked more nearly practicable than the rest. Many more came to them continually, either straight out from the shore, or around the village, wading knee-deep, waist-deep, neck-deep, and waist-deep again, or swimming overhand through the ice-film with great strokes.

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   To judge by the excited clamor and signs of effort, the besieged were not less busy. At the moment of Cian's appearance, two or three of the climbing Saxons were flung, from the top of the wall, with stabs or without them, and the air thickened with other missiles, often glowing hot, showered on the heads below. Yet the escalade was gaining, urged on to fury by yells of fight in the marshes toward the Lea, which were heard interruptedly through their own hurly-burly, and seemed approaching, though distant still.
   Osburn was coming--resolutely, vehemently, in spite of all resistance, and with the utmost speed which it would allow; but he could never come in time. Well for the village folk, well for Aurelia, that there was no need to await him, with the Sword of Fire in person almost over the palisade!
   Cian quickly spread his men to cover that curve of shore from which wading was possible, and then sent them at Eschwine, convergingly and with a dash.
   Even while the last lingering archers were staring with half-turned heads at the sudden apparition of lines of armed men behind them, a great shout went up from these, which every Briton knew, and the keen cry of the marshman-guide followed it. As he sent that forth, he sprang on the nearest enemy, spearing him through the throat, and driving weapon and Saxon headlong into the water together. From

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the village came a glad chorus of many applauding voices. The other Saxon bowmen hurried out to join their comrades, letting fly an arrow or two behind them as they fled.
   Nearly the whole Saxon mass was now in such depth of water as allowed neither secure footing nor free arm-play. Before them was the well-manned barrier which had so tried their strength already; behind them a bristling array of new enemies, not very many in number, but with order yet unbroken, pausing where the bottom suddenly fell away, standing knee-deep or thigh-deep without harm since their part was simply to hold their places. Only at the ends of the curving line was there any outlet.
   Eschwine stood on the platform of the palisade with a handful who had followed him, fighting bitterly to make good their hold; while Aurelia urged forward her guards, and Oisin called on the wild, lank villagers, to dislodge them.
   Such of the Saxons as were yet climbing scrambled desperately up to their king. The others floundered uncertainly for some moments, with cries of discomfiture. Then, back toward the shore went the sea-heathen, swimming and wading as they could, mostly spear in hand, but some with swords, battle-axes, knives, and clubs of war, keeping no order, but fierce as cornered wolves.
   There was very grim fighting then, so that the

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water frothed and spouted with the frenzy of it, and men everywhere fell singly or in writhing and strangling couples. But the Saxons went down seven to one, growing momently less. Very soon there were none withstanding or assailing the Britons, but only a few who had broken through or swam around, and were now hastening to the woods, if so they might escape pursuers, and another few who sought refuge with Eschwine above the palisade.
   These last were closely followed, Cian's men cutting into them as they swam, or dragging them down by the feet from the rough wood. Nevertheless, enough of them reached the top to extend very briefly the struggle of the Essex king. He gave those few moments to a charge against Aurelia, most likely in mere fury and bravado, for he could not hope to carry her away.
   She did not shrink. The press behind her was such as to preclude any motion. Cian, painfully drawing himself up to the top of the palisade, discerned them both with blurred vision, and tumbled over upon the platform before her in a last violent effort.
   Then another form sprang over him, a starved infuriated hovel-dweller of that border, prematurely aged, who had lost all who were dear to him by that Saxon, and had passed bodily under his torture. Like a figure of frenzy this odd assailant came at